


love fern

by alnima



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Behavior that could be seen as stalking, Bets & Wagers, But read the notes for more info...seriously read the notes!!, Consent Issues, Emotional Manipulation, If you've seen the movie then these tags should (hopefully) make sense, Inappropriate Behavior, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Sexual Content, The summary should also help with tags I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: After witnessing his best friend’s breakup, Harry Styles decides to write an article on How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. If he can successfully accomplish that, he’ll finally have the freedom to write what he truly wants. Enter Zayn Malik, who in an attempt to land his company’s largest account bets his boss that he can make anyone fall in love with him. They meet in a bar.Or, an AU based on the movie How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days





	love fern

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning information:** If you have not seen the movie, or are worried about the tags, I would suggest dropping down to the end notes to see spoilery details pertaining to each warning. I do believe that if you've seen the movie, the tags should make sense, but, once again, check out the end notes if you're unsure about anything. 
> 
> Please do not follow the advice of this fic. 
> 
> Thank you to Leigh for looking over this for me, helping correct my mistakes, and for helping me with the warnings. You're a great friend and I am infinitely thankful for you and your help. Additionally, thanks to Gel, who heard my pleas on Twitter and also helped me with the warnings. Thank you to Big Bang mods for being understanding when I missed my due date. And of course, thank you to my lovely artist James (somethingzarry on tumblr) who was so patient and wonderful with me throughout this entire process, and created the most amazing art that exceeded all of my hopes and dreams. You can check out the art they made [here](http://zarryzouis.tumblr.com/post/161830640736/love-fern-alnima-48k-mature-zaynharry), seriously tell them how amazing it is.

Harry waits anxiously as Nick reads his latest bit of journalistic brilliance; a self-proclaimed bit of brilliance, but brilliance nonetheless.

Nick’s face is blank as he reads, fingers occasionally flicking against the mouse as the computer screen shifts, allowing him to read more of what Harry wrote. It takes a large amount of willpower, more than Harry has, to not shout, ‘Well, what do you think?’

It’s taken Harry several weeks to write, listening to artist’s talk about their work from now and in the past, trying to find sources that could help guide his discussion on classic rocks resurgence today.

Finally, after taking valuable time off Harry’s life, Nick turns and smiles. “It’s good,” he says. “It’s amazing, actually.”

“Really? You think so?” Harry asks, unable to keep the smile off his face or stop the giddy feeling filtering through his body.

Nick nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Harry breathes out and smiles even wider, pleased to know that his work is doing something right and he’s finally on the path that he wants to be. His happiness is short lived, however, because Nick pats him on the shoulder and adds, “It’s amazing, like I said, but it’s not Pacific.”

Harry knows that. He knows that his work and what he wants to do doesn’t fit where they’re actually at but that doesn’t change the fact that he wants to do more than what he actually is doing.

“I want to write about something that matters to me. For once,” says Harry, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I am so sick and tired of writing about how to get perfect abs – which is a fucking joke because I don’t even have abs - and how to get free drinks at bars. Or, how to bleach your asshole; stupid shit like that.”

“You’ve never written about bleaching your ass,” Nick laughs, twirling around in Harry’s chair.

Harry sighs. “No, but I’m sure it’s coming.”

“Everyone has to work their way to the top, Harry. Everyone. Well, not everyone entirely. There are the hoards of celebrity children that have everything thrown at them because their parents are important, so they think they are,” Nick supplies, totally unhelpfully. “But, regardless of those people, everyone works their way to the top. We all do things we don’t like to get there, too.”

“I worked hard for my degree,” Harry says. “I took on so many internships at serious publications and this is—“

“A stepping stone,” Nick finishes, looking at him. “You’ll get there. Things like this, they take time, Harry. You’ll get there; I know you will.”

Harry huffs and resists the urge to fold his arms over his chest and full on pout about this. He’s done that before, gone all toddler, as Nick likes to call it, about being forced to write about what someone else wants and not what he wants. Even if that is how jobs are supposed to go.

“Well, I was going to save this for later, but since you’re being such a brat,” Nick mumbles, getting off of Harry’s chair and moving around his desk to go towards his own.

Harry perks up as Nick bends, digging around in his desk drawer before he pulls out an unsuspecting white envelope, waving it around as he walks back.

“What is that?”

“I was lucky enough to snag two tickets to the opening at the Art Institute’s new exhibition for Ai Weiwei,” Nick says.

Harry gasps, snatching the envelope out of Nick’s hands where he’s waving it above his head, mocking him.

“You’re welcome,” Nick tells him, folding his arms over his chest, obviously thrilled with himself that he got the reaction out of Harry that he wanted.

“This is what heaven must feel like,” Harry sighs, clutching the envelope to his face, breathing it in.

“Sure it is, but only if you bring your best friend.”

“Of course I will.”

Harry puts the tickets in his wallet, tossing it into his top drawer where he keeps it so it doesn’t make his butt uncomfortable as he sits in front of his computer all day long.

“Hey, staff meeting in ten minutes,” someone says from behind him, making Harry nearly jump out of his skin as he places a hand over his beating heart. He turns to wave in acknowledgement to Britt, a tiny redhead that always manages to scare the shit out of Harry every time she appears.

“It’s bleached asshole time,” Harry whispers, rolling his eyes as he grabs his things. Nick snorts, moving to get his own things before he pauses, turning back towards Harry.

They turn to look at each at the same time, muttering in unison, “Liam.”

“Where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him all morning,” Harry says, trying to recount the morning in his head and if he saw Liam at any point in time. He’s honestly not really sure that he has but that can’t be right.

Nick shrugs. “Oh well.”

“Nick,” Harry says, glaring at him. “One of us has to get him.”

“Like I said, oh well.”

“I went last time.”

“If I go,” Nick says, picking up his notebook and paper, “I’ll sit in the lobby and only pretend to go, which is why you should do it.”

Harry groans, shoving his things into Nick’s arms. “Stall for me.”

+

Harry doesn’t make it far before he realizes that Nick going to get Liam might not have been such a bad idea after all.

Harry finds Liam sitting on a bench next to revolving doors that lead into the building. The security guard at the desk gives Harry a look like she knows what’s going on and she’s tired of always seeing Liam crying in her lobby during busy periods. Luckily, Liam’s not actually crying this time.

Skidding to a stop, Harry moves in front of Liam.

Liam’s sitting with his phone in his lap, staring at the now grey screen. Harry can’t see his face, so maybe he actually is crying and if he is, it probably is better that Harry found him instead of Nick.

“Liam?”

Liam looks up and Harry thinks crying might have been better because Liam has something worse than a kicked puppy look on his face. It makes Harry think about running back upstairs because he knows what this is going to be before Liam says anything and Harry’s not sure he can do this right now. This is Liam’s job and he needs it, he loves it, and what kind of friend would Harry be if he ran away from him right now? If he ran away from one of his best friends when they look like they’re about to cry.

Not a good one, that’s for sure.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, taking the seat next to Liam.

“She broke up with me.”

“Who did?” asks Harry, trying not to wince at his words because he didn’t think Liam was in a relationship right now.

“Abby. I was walking into work,” Liam explains, unlocking his phone and turning the screen to Harry where a nice little break up text from twenty minutes ago sits.

And oh… Yikes. Harry doesn’t know what to say about that.

“That’s incredibly insensitive,” he settles on, taking the phone away from Liam so he can stop staring at the screen now that he’s pulled it away from Harry’s gaze and towards his own. “I’m really sorry, Liam.”

“This is—I feel. I mean. Harry, look at it.”

“I saw it, Liam,” Harry says gently, putting his hand on his friend’s knee, squeezing lightly. “I saw. And you know, maybe it’s for the best. You didn’t know this girl very well,” Harry guesses,” And, if she’s going to break up with you via text on your way into work, is she really someone you want to be with?”

“It’s not for the best,” Liam mutters.

“Okay, well how about you tell me on the way upstairs since we have work and you’re going to be late to something that matters, like your job,” Harry says, shoving Liam’s phone in his pocket and pulling him off the bench. He holds onto his elbow, pulling him through the lobby and towards the elevator.

The security guard side eyes them as they walk by, frowning at Liam like he’s ruined her morning.

“My breakup and relationship are important to me, Harry.”

“Of course they are, but if you stay and wallow in the lobby, you’re going to get fired because Victor is tired of your shit.”

Liam is quiet for a few seconds before he sighs. “Yeah,” he agrees, letting Harry pull him into the elevator. He presses the button when they get in, so Harry counts that as a win towards Team Make Sure Liam Isn’t Fired.

The elevator ride is silent. Harry doesn’t ask about the break up because Liam isn’t offering him anything and with the meeting starting shortly, Harry’s not sure that it would be his wisest decision to get Liam started on one of his many break ups.

Nick seems surprised to see them, frowning as he slowly hands Harry his notebook back as they catch him on the way to the meeting. Harry’s grip is still on Liam’s elbow to prevent him from running off to cry back in the lobby.

“He was dumped,” Harry whispers, pulling Liam around and shoving him into the room first.

The meeting room is weird, in Harry’s opinion. His boss doesn’t like the cold atmosphere that a traditional meeting room has. Instead, he prefers to make the meeting room look like someone’s living room apartment with too many couches and too little else. Harry shoves Liam in a purple armchair before he drops down a big yellow couch next to him, Nick taking the place on his right.

Harry shoves his notebook between him and the couch because he doesn’t actually need it; Victor just prefers that everyone come prepared. Liam’s not but again, no one actually uses it. People are mostly just trying to look like they want to be engaged instead of wishing they were back at their offices.

Weekly meetings to go over the same thing they always go over, not that much fun.

“Can I please get a little bit more sympathy?” Liam asks, sighing like Harry’s mother when she’s annoyed with him. “I was just—It was in the lobby. I wasn’t even at my desk.”

Nick nods, eyes squinting at he looks at Liam like he’s a science experiment he doesn’t understand. “Tragic,” Nick mutters quietly, shoving Harry in the shoulder when Harry elbows him.

“I am very sympathetic to your broken heart, Liam, but right now I think it’s best if we focus on work,” Harry tells him, as their boss walks in, barefoot and smiling, sipping his coffee as he takes his seat.

“Morning everyone,” Victor greets, sitting cross-legged on a chair that nearly swallows him with how soft and puffy the cushions are. “How are we all doing this morning?”

Several murmurs of fine and okay and wonderful spill into the air as Victor nods, satisfied.

He starts the meeting off as he always does, going over their newest issue and who is on the cover this month before he starts asking people individually about their latest articles, where they’re at and what he can expect from them as it gets closer to their print day.

Rueben talks about how he’s found a way to get abs in three days that has everyone sitting on their edge of their seats, Chloe mentions how she’s been looking into the horrors of plastic surgery in places the A-listers don’t frequent, which makes Nick snort.

“And what about you, Harry? What’s the latest how-to that you’ve cooked up?” Vic asks, looking nothing short of serene as he blinks patiently in Harry’s direction.

“Um, well,” Harry starts, fiddling with the edge of his notebook, his nerves hitting him as he decides he’s going to do it. He’s going to jump the gun and tell Victor what he’s actually been working on. “I did something different. Good different, I think. I’ve been working on a piece about the resurgance of classic rock and how--“

“No,” Victor cuts in, shaking his head as he pulls his feet out from under him.

“I know it’s different, like I said, but I think it’s important to me that—“

“I’m sure it is important. I know it is, but it’s not Pacific,” Victor decides, shrugging. “Let’s face it, your column isn’t a must read. It’s new to the magazine, still in the infant stages and until our readers are demanding for more from it, you’ll be writing what I approve. And you’ll need to figure out what you’re writing soon.”

Nick squeezes Harry’s thigh when he opens his mouth to argue. Harry’s not sure if he’s letting him know that he’s with him or he needs to back down to keep his job, probably the latter instead of the former, so Harry swallows down his argument and nods.

“Wonderful,” Victor chirps, back to smiling. “Liam? How are you this morning?”

Liam is silent beside him, staring down at the floor. Harry looks between Liam and Victor until he nudges Liam in the ribs, jerking his head in their boss’s direction.

“Oh. Sorry,” Liam mutters. “Um—“

“He’s going through a break up,” Nick blurts, when Vic’s face starts to turn sour.

“Oh no, our poor Liam,” Victor says, frowning fakely. “I’m sorry to hear that. But, art imitates life, does it not? Turn it into a story. Dari—“

“Wait, no. I can’t,” Liam shouts. He grimaces a bit. “Sorry. But Victor, I can’t do that. I can’t—I mean, I can’t turn my personal life into a story. I don’t want… It’s not anyone’s business and I don’t want to—“

Liam fumbles through his explanation. Harry watches him curiously, listens as Liam pulls out every excuse in the book as why he cannot write about his own life because it’s not just his life but her life as well, and she’s clearly not that fond of him so he’d like to not do anything, especially when he’s hopeful that they’ll get back together.

Victor nods along like he understands where Liam is coming from completely, but Harry knows his boss, and he knows that he’s not actually that sympathetic to the perils in one’s life.

And there’s just…something about the way that Liam is so adamant that he’s not writing the article – he’s sports, for Christ’s sake, he can’t write about a breakup – that has Harry blurting out, “I’ll do it.”

Liam’s neck cracks as he wipes around to look at—glare at Harry. “What?”

“I mean. Kind of. I’ll kind of write about Liam’s break up,” Harry explains, turning to look at Victor now that Liam’s glare has lessened. “Liam is going to be my inspiration for what I’m going to write.”

“And what are you going to write?” Victor asks.

“Well, Liam’s a great guy and…anyone would be lucky to have him, but,” Harry sighs softly. “Sometimes Liam does things that drive people away and he doesn’t really realize what he’s doing when he does it, so I just thought that maybe I could… I could date a guy and do all of things that Liam and our readers do that drive men away.”

Victor is nodding and a quick glance at Liam tells Harry that he’s not angry anymore. On the other side of him, Nick is smirking.

Feeling a little more confident, Harry continues. “It would be a dating how-to in reverse.”

A slow smile spreads across Victor’s face as he nods once more. “What not to do.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“How to lose a guy in ten days,” Victor mutters, grinning. “I like it. Okay, who is next?”

“Whoa, whoa. Wait, ten days?” Why ten days? That’s not enough time.”

“We go to print in ten days. So, ten days.”

Harry nods because yeah, he remembers now. He breathes a bit in relief, leaning back against the couch and looking at Liam. Liam looks grateful, a look of relief on his face.

“It’s better than anal bleaching,” Harry mutters to him, biting his lip when Nick barks out a laugh and tries to cover it with a cough.

+++

Zayn’s late, riding the elevator to fourteen with his motorcycle helmet clutched in his hand.

The elevator stops with a ding, the doors pulling open to let him out. His floor is loud, people talking and shouting out deadlines and suggestions for improvements. Zayn nods at a few people, tucking his helmet behind his back as he weaves through the crowd.

Louis and Niall are waiting for him in his office, lounging on the couch and tossing a ball back and forth. Zayn tosses his helmet into the corner and shrugs out of his leather jacket, tossing it on the back of his chair.

“What are you two paid for?” Zayn asks, shaking his head as his secretary steps into his office. She has a stack of messages for him, all written on tiny scraps of hot pink paper so Zayn can’t lose them on his desk like he’s done before.

“Your sister called,” Maggie says, dropping one of the papers on his desk. “She said if you miss lunch today she’d tell your mother that it was you who shattered the back window.”

Zayn rolls his eyes because that was three summers ago when he was kicking the ball around with his cousins. He can easily blame that on Jawaad for not blocking the shot like he was supposed to instead of letting it soar past him.

“I won’t forget,” Zayn promises, watching as Maggie drops the rest of the papers, letting them rain down on his desk in a clutter that’ll force him to actually pick them up and look at them. She smiles at him, then snatches a suit jacket off the rack he has in his office. “And thank you.”

“How do you live your life without me?”

“I don’t,” laughs Zayn, sliding the jacket on. He smiles at her as she goes, his smile dropping when he sees the nervous pacing that Niall and Louis are doing just behind her, like they cannot physically wait for her to leave Zayn’s office. “What’s up?”

“The Vanderbilt’s called Richard,” Niall shouts, clapping a hand over his mouth before he sticks some of his fingers in his mouth, chewing anxiously on his nails.

“Vanderbilt’s?”

“Yeah,” Louis tosses out, like Zayn is being slow on purpose.

“They never call anyone,” Zayn says, tapping his thumb against the edge of his desk. “But they called us.”

“They called us,” Louis confirms.

“The Vanderbilt’s are huge, Zayn. They’re like, royalty without being royalty. They’re invested in nearly every industry in the world; they own a stake in every industry. Do you even know how many companies they own?” Niall rants, looking at Louis for help. “It’s a shit ton. How else do you become a billionaire, Zayn? You don’t work for that, you just find ways to take it from other people legally. I’d imagine, anyway.”

“They’re looking for someone to lead their new venture into diamonds,” Louis tells him. “Whoever helps us get it becomes the new creative director.”

Zayn nods along as they continue to talk about what something like getting this account could mean for Wellington Advertising but also what it could mean for who gets Wellington the account.

Creative director has a say in nearly everything that the company puts out, putting the stamp of approval on things before Richard Wellington himself sees it. Zayn’s been trying to get creative director for months. It’s almost shameful how much ass kissing has come with staying late – and arriving late, apparently.

Creative director has been his Zayn’s goal since he started at Wellington. It’s why he’s busted his ass to get promotion after promotion, sacrificing valuable parts of his life to do so in the process.

This is a sign, as much of one as Zayn’s ever seen.

“I need to go talk to Richard,” Zayn mumbles, still feeling a little dazed.

“He’s not in the office today,” Niall tells him, grabbing Zayn by the forearm and tugging him back into his office.

“Plus, I’ve heard he’s giving it to the Yellows,” Louis tacks on.

“Oh, fuck me,” Zayn mutters, kicking his desk before he drops down in his chair. Of course the Yellows are all over this, probably already figuring out which wall they want to blow out to expand their office to fit the both of them. Just his fucking luck isn’t it.

“We tried calling you,” Niall says in a voice that he thinks must be soothing but is mostly accusatory.

There’s a weird feeling in Zayn’s arm that he thinks might be the start of a heart attack, as he tries to get his mind around the fact that his chance is going to be taken away by the fucking Yellows, his arch enemies at work. They’ve done nothing but make his life a living hell. Marigold Evans and Saffron Ryan, Zayn almost wants to see if his second cousin is still dabbling in witchcraft so she can help him steal the account from them.

“No,” Zayn mutters aloud because he wants everyone to know that he won’t do that. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll figure something out because this account is going to be mine. It is.” Louis and Niall don’t look that convinced as Zayn shouts for his assistant. “Maggie, can you please look into Richard’s schedule and find out every bit of office gossip that you can about the Vanderbilt account?”

“On it,” Maggie shouts back.

Zayn looks through the glass of his office and sees Maggie lifting up her phone, already punching buttons as she gets started.

He has a plan, for now. He just needs to figure out what he’s going to say when he actually sees Richard Wellington.

+

Clover is one of the more upscale bars in town, with floor to ceiling windows in the front and walls that are almost the color of gold. The bar wraps around the middle of the place in a square with bartenders in black pants and white button ups tucked in neatly, completely opposite to the girl with the blue hair styled in a Mohawk at the place he and Louis and Niall like to go to.

Zayn’s wearing one of his more expensive suits, one that he never wears because it’s so fucking expensive that he’s almost uncomfortable and he’s constantly worried that it’ll rip if they wind blows the wrong way. But it’ll impress Richard and it’s perfect for where they are.

Zayn gets a scotch and sits down at a table in the back, tapping the side of his glass anxiously while he waits. He keeps his eyes on the door, waiting to see Richard and the Yellows walk in. Flocks of people flow in while he waits, all of them looking like they’ve just got off work and are trying to relax just a bit.

A small group walks in, looking like they’re around his age with a boy in the middle with a smile that fills Zayn’s chest. He’s tall, not quite gangly, but his limbs are long, his legs stretched out in tight black pants that squeeze wickedly around his thighs. His hair is long and shaggy, falling into the boy’s face until he shakes it out of his eyes, tossing it back in a way that’s messy but really fucking nice.

Zayn’s eyes track the boy as him and his friends order drinks, talking about something until the pretty boy wanders off to go talk to someone else. Figures he’d be meeting someone, Zayn thinks, rolling his eyes as he notices movement by the door.

Richard and the Yellows are walking in, Richard in a suit that looks almost identical to the one Zayn is wearing while Saffron is in a sea foam dress, her dark hair twisted into a bun on the top of her head. It compliments her dark skin in a way that makes her look like she’s glowing, like every light in the room is focused on her. Zayn almost wishes they weren’t enemies because she’s so beautiful.

Marigold trails behind them, blonde hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, trailing down the open back of her white dress that nearly blends into her pale skin. She grips Saffron’s arm when she spots Zayn, glaring at him as she alerts her friend.

Zayn smiles, standing up as they approach, unsure what he should be doing with himself now that they’re here, even though he and Louis and Niall have been practicing this moment all day.

“Zayn,” Richard says in greeting, smiling at him. “You weren’t invited.”

“I know,” says Zayn, wiping the sweat off his palms and onto his pant legs, hoping that sweat doesn’t stain designer. “I should have been,” he adds, hoping that he sounds as confident as he felt during the practice run with his friends.

“Oh?”

“And what makes you say that?” Saffron cuts in, putting her hand under her chin and looking at him like she wants to cut him into tiny pieces and make him disappear forever.

“I just think that you made a mistake by not inviting me.”

“Is that so?” Richard asks, smirking like he’s enjoying what Zayn is saying, whether because he agrees or he finds it funny is up in the air.

“Yes, it is. I believe that I should be given at least a chance at getting the account. I’ve been working my ass off lately, bringing in more clients than ever, and putting out some of my best work,” Zayn says. “And you know that I’ve been trying for the creative director slot, so I think that I would a valuable asset towards getting this account.”

“A few measly clients and you think you’re qualified for this?” Marigold laughs, taking a sip of her champagne. “Interesting.”

“Not measly. I got us Versace, something I heard the two of you had been trying to do for months. Only took me two weeks.”

Richard laughs, a booming sound that makes Zayn’s smirk grow, feeling proud of himself when he sees the look that the Yellows share.

“I do agree that you’ve done marvelously lately Zayn, but Saffron and Marigold are the best that I have. And I need to go with the best on this. The Vanderbilt’s are serious clients.”

“I understand that. I know that. They’re going to want to revamp, a complete overhaul of their previous image. Ignoring the fact we’re going to be taking over advertising for their entire brand, we’d also be doing the ads for the entire diamond industry, or most of it anyway,” Zayn explains. “I’ve spent all morning looking into this. Diamonds are advertised for certain things, for certain people, but I think we need to flip that on it’s head. Diamonds aren’t just for—“

Zayn’s cut off by the Yellows laughing, the two sharing looks with each other like Zayn is telling some kind of joke.

“That’ll never work,” Saffron says. “Diamonds are luxury and—“

“—If they’re not seen as luxury,” Marigold continues, “then less people will be interested in buying them.”

“They’ll lose their status.”

“Or,” Zayn starts, trying to keep the edge out of his voice, “more people will be able to buy them. Or at least think they can.”

“We don’t want more people to think they can buy diamonds, Zayn,” Marigold tells him. “In order to sell diamonds, you need to understand people. You need to understand one of the most basic human feelings there is.”

“Love,” Saffron says, playing with the jewel around her neck, trailing her fingers along the chain. “Selling diamonds, you need to know how to make someone fall in love.”

Zayn’s eyes lift from her necklace to her face, where she’s smirking at him, feeling like she’s won something or understands something that Zayn never could. “I can do that,” Zayn says, firm and sure. “I can make anyone fall in love with me.”

Richard laughs. “You’re cocky, Zayn.”

“No, I’m not. I’m confident, just like I’m confident in my abilities to get you this account.”

“How about a bet?” Marigold suggests.

“A bet?”

“A bet. You get someone to fall in love with you in ten days and we’ll let you have the account.”

“Oh, I like the sound of this,” Richard announces, grinning.

Zayn doesn’t know what to do besides nod along with them, because sure, he can do this. He knows himself and he knows that he can get someone to fall in love with him. It’s not like it’s going to be hard. In ten days, that’s hard, but he can figure it out. He knows that he can, so he agrees, much to the delight of his boss and the Yellows.

“Any preferences?” Marigold asks, turning in her seat to better see the rest of the people in the bar.

“Anyone is fine, as long as they’re interested in men.”

Marigold begins talking about people in the bar, a woman with red hair in a green dress with ruffles, a man in a pale blue suit and a creepy smile that makes Zayn cringe when he looks at him. She picks apart the people there, some of them Zayn’s definitely not attracted to and others that he wouldn’t mind spending ten days with, especially not when he knows what the light at the end of the tunnel will be.

Marigold is just beginning to tell him that she’s picked his girl, one that is probably tall enough to rest her elbows on his head comfortably, when Saffron says, “No. Him.”

“Him?” Richard asks, leaning back comfortably in his chair and drinking his whiskey, an amused look on his face. “Who is this elusive him?”

“The one at the bar, pretty smile, dirty curls.”

Zayn’s eyes move towards the bar, seeing a few guys that fit that description. He’s not sure if it’s a free for all where Zayn’s just going to be allowed to pick one of them until Saffron starts mentioning clothes.

“His shirts undone to about the middle of his chest, obviously hitting on that married guy whose wife looks pissed off behind him. Him,” she says, smirking at Zayn and ignoring Marigold’s questioning glances.

It’s the boy that Zayn spotted earlier when he walked in, the one that Zayn was sure was there for someone, but maybe not if he’s hitting on married men unsuccessfully. He fits the only requirement that Zayn made, that whoever it is, is interested in men in some way, but it never hurts that Zayn would actively pursue this guy, bet or not.

“Yeah. Him,” Zayn agrees, feeling pleased, as he turns to look back at everyone. “You’ve got a deal.”

Richard nods, smug and amused. “Ten days. I’ll decide who gets the account, if we get the account, based on if that boy is in love with you or not.”

Zayn nods, turning his head back to look at the boy at the bar. Ten days.

+++

“That guy was married,” explains Harry, when he returns to Nick and Liam.

Liam looks sympathetic, passing Harry back his drink as he slumps against the bar.

“His wife seemed…”

“Pissed?” Harry finishes, laughing as he takes a sip. “Can’t really blame her, though we were talking about the weather, so she can keep her boring husband.”

“That’s the fourth guy tonight to reject you,” Nick points out primly, shrugging when Harry turns to glare at him.

Harry knows that luck isn’t on his side tonight. The first guy was nice enough, entertaining Harry until it became blatantly obvious that he was straight and even if he was one of those straight guys that liked to have the occasional gay guy, Harry wasn’t interested in _that_. Then there was a lawyer, slightly balding man that said he’d be back in a moment with drinks and never came back, which was shortly followed by a guy Nick had picked out who was just out for a night with his friends and very clearly didn’t want to separate from them for Harry. It was sweet of him, or whatever, but Harry is a man on a mission, and all that guy did was set him back. And now, the married man, whose wife is still glaring at Harry despite him walking away without an issue. He can feel it on his back as he sips his drink.

“I think it’s because I’m forcing it,” Harry theorizes. He’s really not normally this bad at getting anyone to leave a bar with him. “I think it’s throwing me off. Something feels off.”

“Should we go somewhere else?” Nick asks.

“No,” Liam decides, shaking his head. “We’re going to sit here and talk. People usually end up flocking to you when you’re just…there.”

Harry sighs because that’s not even anywhere near the truth, but at this point, what does he have to lose? He has no prospects and he might as well enjoy a few moments with his friends before they find somewhere else to go to start his mission over again.

“Maybe that’ll work,” Harry mutters, taking another drink.

Nick smiles at him, almost apologetically. “Why don’t we figure out what you’re going to do to try and scare this boy away?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Harry admits. “I know that I’m going to be clingy and needy, we know people hate that. I’m just going to bother him and make his life hell. I’ll call him about everything. If I catch a red light in a cab, he’s going to know about it. If an express train zips by me on the L, he’ll know about it.”

Nick laughs, shaking his head as he takes a drink. “You’ll have to call him all day long, even at work.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to, since it’s for an article.”

“Are you going to withhold sex?” Liam asks, giving Harry a look that makes it seem like Harry doesn’t know how to do just that.

Harry snorts. “I’m hardly going to sleep with some guy I plan on getting rid of in a week and a half, sooner if I’m any good at my job.”

“Show up at his apartment in the middle of the night just to talk,” Liam suggests.

“Cry about everything,” Nick tosses out. “A lot of people hate that.”

“I am pretty good at crying on cue,” Harry muses, remembering when he was a teenager. It’s been ages since he’s done it, but he could probably still manage it. “I could give myself a section of his closet.”

Liam laughs. “Criticize what’s in his closet.”

“Subtly, though,” Nick adds on. “Just look at him and say, ‘oh, that’s what you’re wearing?’ Then, you can give him a look and sigh, tell him that it’ll be fine when he asks what’s wrong with it.”

Harry grins over the rim of his class, making a mental note to try all of this. He knows whatever he decides to do will also depend on the guy himself, because everyone is different and while he’s going to try universal techniques, he needs to make sure that he’s tailoring them to the poor guy he’s stuck with.

“I think,” Nick says, bringing his glass to his lips, “that you have someone eyeing you up at eleven.”

“Your eleven?” Harry asks turning his head to the right until Nick’s finger guides his gaze in the right direction.

Harry sees him and…wow. This guy is…wow. There’s really no other words for him, dressed in a suit that’s far too nice for where they’re at but still manages to work, especially on him, his dark hair is pushed back. He’s pretty, almost like he invented the word and he’s staring at Harry, a smirk to his pursed lips and a fire in his eyes. The man lifts his glass in the air, tilting just slightly in the direction of Harry, a question on his face.

Harry turns around, takes a deep breath, and says, “Well, game on.”

“Good luck,” Nick tells him, shaking his head as Liam pats Harry on the arm, taking his drink from him.

“Be careful,” Liam mutters after him.

Harry feels nervous for some reason, as he moves across the bar. He doesn’t have to look up to know the other guy is watching him, knows just from the fact that the guy turns when he approaches, standing sideways and allowing Harry to slide in next to him, resting his elbow on the bar.

“Hi,” the guy says, stepping back a bit more to make room for Harry.

“Hi,” Harry mutters, feeling a little in awe as he looks up at the man. His eyes are big and hazel, framed by thick black eyelashes that look like that his sister pays for.

The guy smiles at him, setting his glass down on the bar. “Hi,” he repeats.

“Harry Styles.”

“Zayn Malik.”

Harry hums. “Fits you.”

“My mom thought so.”

“I’m sure she did,” Harry laughs.

Zayn shrugs. “So, what do you do, Harry Styles?”

“I’m a writer for Pacific Magazine.”

Zayn’s eyes widen briefly before he nods. “Impressive. One of the fastest growing magazines in the world right now.”

Harry’s brow quirks at that, jumping up slightly, impressed. “What about you?”

“I’m a designer for Wellington Advertising, currently trying to become creative director.”

“Oh,” Harry mutters, impressed. “You’re a fancy artist.”

“Not fancy, no.”

“Your suit says otherwise,” Harry tells him, poking Zayn to bring attention to the suit he’s wearing. Harry’s unsure of the designer but the fabric is nice, definitely bought at a boutique and not a department store or one of those men’s suit stores that carry suits from last season. Harry remembers when Pacific did an article about it.

Zayn shrugs like he’s not sure what to say to that, not because he’s embarrassed or because he wants Harry to think that it’s not a big deal and he wears suits like this all the time. Instead of replying to Harry’s comment about his suit, he says, “Your friends are watching us.”

“Then we should give them a show.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head as his fingers circle the brim of his glass. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

Harry grins. “You have no idea,” he says, because this poor man has no idea what he’s just gotten himself into. Harry’s going to chew him up and spit him out, it’s only a shame that he’s so cute.

“You want a drink?” Zayn asks, lifting his hand in preparation to flag down the bartender.

“No,” Harry tells him, shaking his head, putting his hand on Zayn’s. “I want something to eat.”

Zayn smiles, looking at Harry for a moment before he nods, then says, “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  
+++

They get food at a Brazilian place that Zayn swears by. Harry’s surprised that it’s good; that he enjoys everything he eats. He doesn’t tell Zayn; Harry wouldn’t dream of letting him know that, so he plays it coy, pretending like he’s had better even though he can’t stop eating.

The music in the restaurant is loud, not enough that Harry can’t hear what Zayn’s saying, but loud enough that they have lean closer to each other, projecting their words into the other’s ear.

Zayn tells him more about his job, more of what he does at Wellington and places Harry might be able to see some of his work. They laugh about the old bus shelter ads that Zayn used to do when he first started out, photoshopping text onto images of smiling people for low budget companies. Harry remembers one, remembers the tacky purple font laid over a red background for a local food chain. Zayn holds his head in his hands when Harry teases him for it, his cheeks turning a wonderful shade of pink that leaves Harry feeling delighted.

Harry tells Zayn about Pacific, different celebrities that he’s met, avoiding answering anything about who was a nightmare and who wasn’t. He might be a little unhappy with the restrictions at his job, but he doesn’t want to be unemployed, thanks.

Zayn listens, looking at Harry intently when he talks, never letting his gaze wander off. It’s nice, to feel like his opinion and life are meaningful to a complete stranger who gets absolutely nothing out of listening to Harry talk about himself.

It’s nice. They click. They _work_. It’s almost frustrating, to know that Harry’s going to make this guy’s life miserable. Not miserable, really. He’s just going to make sure that Zayn breaks up – can it even be called a break up after ten days? - with him sooner rather than later.

Zayn takes Harry back to his place. He drives a motorcycle, or one of those zippy motorized bikes that Harry doesn't know the name of. The sporty ones that younger people like, the ones that allow them to weave through traffic and do stupid stunts on the highway, those ones.

Zayn doesn’t do stupid highway tricks or weave through traffic beyond getting over to the right lane when cars are blocking the way. They navigate through the bike lane, so maybe it’s not a total dick move. Harry likes it though, likes wrapping around Zayn, and likes seeing the smirk that plays at Zayn’s lips as they drive.

“Oh,” Harry mutters, stumbling into Zayn’s apartment and looking around. “This is nice.”

It is. It’s modern with sleek lines and a lot whiter than Harry would expect. The couch is thick, fluffy, and black, situated in the middle of the room. The kitchen is behind a wall to the left, visible through a serving hatch. There’s a keyboard and guitars in one corner, in front of a wall that’s been graffitied in a way that’s supposed to be artistic, Harry thinks, and in the corner, off to the right, is a hallway that Harry assumes leads to the bedroom.

“You want something to drink?” Zayn offers.

Harry turns away from scanning the room to look at Zayn, smiling as he shakes his head. Zayn shrugs as Harry turns away, moving around the room and breathing it in before he drops down on the couch, sighing as he sinks into the cushions.

“This is… _wow_.”

“Yeah. My sister convinced me to buy it, said I’d be an idiot if I got leather. Fake leather, but. Leather, I guess.”

“I agree with your sister. You’d have been an idiot. Leather furniture sucks.”

“It looks nice. They look neat, more,” Zayn waves his hand around like he can’t find the word and maybe Harry will find it for him.

“Professional? Like you’ve robbed an old man’s home office?” Harry suggest, grinning when Zayn turns to glare at him, sitting next to him. “I think my bank uses leather chairs. Are you going for that look?”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs, toeing off his shoes and sliding them under the glass coffee table so neither of them can trip over them. “They do make a lot of noise when you move around.”

Harry smiles, hitting Zayn lightly in the thigh. “I’m glad that you’re finally coming to my side of things.”

“Does this mean that I should start writing about how to find the perfect couch based on my sign?”

“Hey,” Harry protests, poking Zayn in the ribs as he rolls onto his side, bringing himself closer to Zayn. “First of all, I don’t do astrology work, I wish I could, and second of all, picking a couch based on your sign is very serious business and I won’t have you mocking it.” Harry can barely gets the words out; Zayn’s laughing at him and Harry can’t help but join him, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

“All right,” Zayn replies, tapping out a pattern on Harry’s thigh.

Harry blinks at Zayn, staring at the long sweeping eyelashes that frame his eyes, making it feel like Harry can’t look at anything else, but it pulls him into the tiny freckle next to Zayn’s iris, the faint freckle on the side of his nose. He really is pretty and Harry thinks, fuck it, before he leans forward and kisses him.

Zayn slides his hand from Harry’s thigh to his hip, fingers curling into the skin. He keeps trying to slow the kiss down, pulling back when Harry pushes forward, mouth moving slowly, trying to pull Harry back to the moment.

Harry growls into the kiss, pushing forward until Zayn is lying flat on his back, legs dangling off the side of the couch because he doesn’t want soft and sweet, that’s for the birds. Harry wants deep. He wants to feel it in his gut and down to his toes.

Zayn laughs, pinching Harry’s ribs and kissing him the way that Harry wants to be kissed, with Zayn’s fingers tugging at his hair and his teeth nipping at Harry’s lips, Zayn’s other hand squeezing his ass. It’s fucking perfect. Harry feels sparks under his skin, electricity that leaves urgency in its wake.

It’s too much for a first date, for a first meeting, especially when Harry desperately needs Zayn to call him again tomorrow and the next day. He can’t write an article about how to lose a guy in ten days if he doesn’t get a call back after the first night. But fuck if Harry cares about that right now.

Harry shifts around until he get his hands between them, running the tips of his fingers along the waist of Zayn’s fancy suit pants.

“Can I?” Harry asks, nipping at Zayn’s chin at he nods.

“Yeah,” Zayn mutters, gasping when Harry’s hand digs into Zayn’s pants, popping the button so he can move his hand. “No, wait,” says Zayn, firmly, pushing at Harry.

Harry pulls back, leaning back and leaving Zayn’s space. “I’m sorry, was that—I thought—Shit, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Zayn asks, confused, eyes scanning Harry’s face. “No, I just—It’s fast. It’s too fast, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry breathes, raking his fingers through his hair as he leans back. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. We should, you know.”

“We should,” Harry agrees, wetting his lips as he tries to figure out what they should be doing. Kissing? Sitting five feet apart? Separating for the night completely? He has no fucking clue.

Next to him, Zayn nods, muttering another yeah under his breath before he adds, louder, “Well, kissing is fine,” before pulling Harry in, tugging his hair back so Harry’s mouth parts and Zayn’s tongue can slip in.

Yeah, kissing. They should totally be kissing. Harry loves kissing, especially when Zayn’s hands find his ass again, kneading gently.

“It’s too fast,” mutters Zayn, biting Harry’s lip before he kisses Harry again. “Way too fast?”

“Should we stop?” Harry asks, slipping his fingers under Zayn’s shirt, scratching his stomach lightly and forcing a quiet groan out of Zayn.

“So fast.”

“Totally.”

It’s mixed signals like Harry’s never seen before because he has no idea who Zayn is trying to convince, because with every ‘too fast’ is followed by a tug of Harry’s hair, or the tips of Zayn’s fingers inching into his pants before pulling out, grabbing Harry by the ass and pulling him in a little more.

“It’s too fast,” Zayn says again, pushing Harry off once more. “Sorry. You’re right, it’s too fast.”

“Have I been saying that?” Harry asks, breathing out harshly, laughing when Zayn looks confused, trying to remember if Harry said it or not.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Maybe I should head home.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Zayn agrees, untucking his shirt completely so it’s not just pulled out at the sides. It’s wrinkled and Harry hopes that Zayn doesn’t care that he’s probably ruined a designer shirt.

Harry nods, breathing out once more to steady himself. “You want my number?”

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn tells him, staring at Harry in confusion again like he doesn’t understand why Harry would think otherwise.

Harry grins and scribbles his number down on a slip of paper sitting on Zayn’s table. “So, I guess now you’ll have to call me.”

“I guess I will,” Zayn says, smiling as he stands, reaching out his hands to help tug Harry to his feet.

He walks Harry to the door, his hand on the small of Harry’s back. Zayn opens the door, leans against it and smiles at Harry, soft and sated. His stupid cute face, Harry thinks, leaning forward to kiss Zayn for a last time before he heads towards the elevator.

Once alone, Harry breathes out harshly, sagging against the elevator walls. “Shit,” he mutters, pinching his closed for a second as he tries to regain his mind, tries to pull it back to why he’s here, what he’s doing.

It’s an awful thing to do, like orange juice after brushing his teeth, because kissing Zayn was fun but Harry has a job to do. He has a deadline, and he was so foolish to leave without ensuring that he has Zayn’s number. What if Zayn doesn’t call?

Harry composes himself when he reaches the bottom floor, tucking his hands in his pockets and heading towards the L.

“Good night, Harry Styles,” someone calls, startling Harry as he looks around. There’s a flash of movement that causes Harry’s gaze to drift upwards, spotting Zayn leaning against the railing of his balcony, waving.

Harry smiles, bringing his hand up to his mouth to blow Zayn a kiss.

Zayn’s definitely going to call him.

+

“Please tell me that your night was more eventful than mine was,” Nick says, dropping a burrito from the food truck that parks across the street in front of Harry.

Harry groans, hitting send on his email to his mom. Food sounds amazing right about now, considering it’s an hour past his normal lunch break and he is stressed from the day already. As he reaches for the plate, Nick pulls it away from him, forcing Harry to turn around and pout at Nick, who cocks an unimpressed brow back at him.

“I’ll tell you, just give me the burrito,” Harry demands, snatching the plate back and dropping it on his desk.

“If you had the night that I had in comparison to the night that I think you had, you’d be holding lunch hostage too,” Nick informs him, sitting in his desk chair that he’s wheeled in from his cubicle.

“Your night can’t have been that bad. I left you with Liam.”

“That’s exactly why my night was that bad,” Nick says, stabbing his fork in Harry’s direction. “Our dear Liam is going through a rather traumatic heartbreak, if you recall, and spent the better part of the night crying into his margarita.”

Harry laughs. “Who ordered margaritas?”

“You know, I’m not quite sure.”

“You did,” Liam says, wheeling his chair into Harry’s office. “And I did not cry into my drink.”

“Liam,” Nick sighs, “we’re not talking about you right now, we’re talking about Harry.”

“Right,” Liam mutters, rolling his eyes.

Harry laughs, shaking his head as he takes a bite. “There’s not much to tell about last night, honestly. We went to this Brazilian place for food, talked for a while, and then went back to his place.”

“Oh god,” Liam sighs. “Harry, you can’t have sex with him.”

“I didn’t have sex with him.”

“You thought about having sex with him,” Nick states, shrugging when Harry turns to glare at him. “I’m not blind. I saw him and I know you. And he saw you, so I’m sure he thought about it, too.”

Harry sighs, staring at his burrito and hoping it’ll give him whatever he needs to get through this conversation. “Fine. I thought about it,” he admits. “Almost happened, maybe, but he thought that it was too fast, so.”

Liam smiles, bits of sauce on his cheek. “That’s kind of sweet,” he says, catching the napkin Harry throws at him. “Thanks.”

“It’s probably for the best that you didn’t have sex anyway,” Nick decides.

“Yeah, he was right. Well, I don’t really believe anything is too fast, but. Still.”

“At least now when he wants sex you can tell him no, as part of this whole thing, you know,” Nick says.

Harry wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. It is something that he could do, deny Zayn sex when he wants it, but if Zayn thought one day was too soon – and okay, whatever, Harry can give him that, he’s not an animal – then there’s not going to be any chance that Zayn thinks ten days is long enough. Besides, there are already issues with what Harry is doing, a fucked up morality to it and taking advantage of Zayn sexually, it’s not a line that Harry wants to cross. Not for any article.

“It’s probably best that he and I don’t sleep together at all, in any way that goes beyond actual sleeping.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Liam adds. “When are you going to see him again?”

“I’m not sure. I gave him my number and now I just have to wait for him to call.”

“Harry,” Nick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “why wouldn’t you take his number? You can’t sit around waiting for him to call, not when you have a deadline.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I know, and believe me, I thought about it when I was leaving his place. But, when I got home, I realized that I left the Ai Weiwei tickets at his place.”

Nick’s mouth drops open. “You what?” He cries. “Are you serious? Harry, what the fuck?”

“What if he doesn’t find them?” Liam asks.

“Then Nick and I head to the AIC tonight and look like idiots begging to get in because our names are on the list.”

“No, my name is on the list,” Nick says.

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, but you love me too much to take anyone else,” he says, grinning as he resumes eating his burrito.

Nick and Liam leave the Zayn thing alone after that, instead shifting back into work talk - because all three of them are useless at separating themselves from the office when they’re sitting in the office – until Liam and Nick are heading back to where they belong, leaving Harry to get back to his work. He doesn’t even what he should be doing, really, because he’s not ready to write much about Zayn. He’s already taken notes, small annotations of meeting Zayn.

Sometime in the afternoon, before Harry starts thinking about packing up, fiddling with his phone and returning texts that he’s ignored all day when his phone starts to vibrate in his hands. It’s not a number he recognizes but with a feeling like he knows whom it is, he hits the button.

“Hello?”

“So, it seems that you’ve left something very important at my place last night.”

“Oh?” Harry says, wheeling his desk back and snapping his fingers to get Nick and Liam’s attention. He pulls the phone away, mouthing ‘It’s Zayn’ before bringing it back and saying, “And who can I ask is calling?”

Zayn laughs, amused. “Zayn,” he says.

“Ah,” Harry mumbles, feigning surprise. “What do you think that I left at your place, or was this just an excuse to call me?”

“I would have called you anyway, but I think you were looking to ensure a phone call.”

“Oh, was I? And why would I want to do that?”

“Well,” Zayn says, as the sound of something crinkling open, “if I’m basing my answer off what you left my place, I would say that you’re looking for a date to the AIC tonight. For the Ai Weiwei exhibition.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Definitely not true. My friend got those tickets and he’s been thinking about killing me all day for misplacing them,” he says, looking up at Nick who is nodding enthusiastically, like yes, he really does want to kill Harry. “I’ve got him glaring at me now, so.”

“I guess you’ll have to make it up to him somehow,” Zayn muses.

“Yeah, I’ll have to come by after work to grab them. He’s dying to go.”

“No,” Zayn decides, “I think you want to go with me. I think that’s why you left them at my place, remember? You’re trying to ensure a call back, a second date?”

“We had a first date?” Harry says, looking at Nick. He pulls the phone away as Zayn tries to explain to him once more that Harry was subconsciously trying to let everyone know that he wants Zayn to be there with him. “He wants to go,” Harry says to Nick.

“Absolutely not,” Nick says, shaking his head. “Give me the phone.”

“It could be good for Harry,” Liam interjects, holding his arm out to stop Nick from getting closer. “He needs to see him again. He has a job to do.”

Nick sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, but you owe me. You owe me.”

Harry smiles, grinning because he really does owe Nick. “It doesn't sound like I can change your mind about this,” Harry says into the phone, “so I guess I’ll see you tonight?”

“I guess you will,” Zayn mutters, pleased. “You want me to pick you up?”

“No, we’ll meet there,” Harry decides before he gets Zayn off the phone, tossing his phone down on the table and feeling like this is going to be something, he’s not sure what, but something.

+++

The Art Institute is lit up, with people dressed in suits and fancy dresses, leaving their expensive cars with the valet, a bunch of young boys goofing around when no one is looking. Zayn took the L, feeling a bit like an ass sitting on the train in one of his best suits at this time of night.

Zayn stands out in front, hands in his pockets, and waits for Harry. One man has already tried to give him car keys, despite Zayn not wearing the jacket with valet stamped on the back. It’s left him feeling off center, like maybe he should have given Harry the tickets so he could bring his friend. But then he sees Harry, walking up the slight slope towards him, grinning when he spots Zayn.

“Look at you,” Harry mutters, catching Zayn’s arm and wrapping his own around it. “You look nice.”

“So do you,” Zayn tells him, breathing out a little easier now that he’s not alone. “You look fun.”

Harry laughs, tugging Zayn towards the doors. He does look fun though, Zayn thinks, admiring Harry’s suit. It’s black with patterns and designs drawn in different colored threads, like someone gave the sewing machine to a toddler and told them to go wild. It’s so unlike what everyone else is wearing – black tie, white shirt, black jacket, and black pants. Everyone is dressed the same, including Zayn.

They make it inside without a problem, Harry taking the tickets from Zayn and passing them off without waiting to see if they can actually step inside.

Harry leads the way but Zayn doesn’t mind having someone help him navigate this kind of thing. It’s not really his scene, large crowds where he doesn’t actually know anyone. There’s a nervous thrum under his skin normally, sometimes making his heart beat so harshly that just the thought of coming out keeps him at home. But he’s doing okay right now, letting Harry shove a glass of champagne in his hands, like he knows Zayn needs to take the edge off.

“You’ll never survive these things if you don’t drink,” Harry explains, emptying his glass quickly before he motions for Zayn to the same. “Atta boy. Now, feel a bit better?”

Zayn breathes out, nodding. “Do you come to these often? I thought they were impossible unless money just follows you or falls out of your pockets and you don’t chase after it.”

“You chase after money?”

“If it comes in the form of paper, I do,” Zayn replies, smiling when Harry laughs.

“I’d like to see that,” Harry decides, taking Zayn’s champagne flute and passing both of theirs off to a server rushing by. “And I don’t come to these things often, but I find that when asked to go somewhere that requires you to wear a suit just to get in the door, you need something to take the edge off. Now, come on, let’s go look at the art.”

The exhibition is taking place in a room off to the side, one that Zayn knows from frequenting the AIC enough, is consistently rotating artists and works, not as much as one of the other rooms that he saw the Picasso exhibition in, but still.

Zayn steps in behind Harry, his hand on Harry’s arm so they’re not separated through the crowd.

“Oh,” Zayn mutters when he steps around Harry because, as far as exhibitions for semi-popular artists that Zayn briefly read about on the Internet this morning goes, this one is surprisingly underwhelming.

There’s a series of photographs of the artist on a far wall, dropping a vase onto the ground, with a bunch of ceramic vases the artist made on the floor. The glaze looks like it hasn’t been fired yet, instead the artist just poured it on to get the dripping effect and decided to leave it, making it look chalky instead of like glass. A wall cuts the room in half and Zayn can see a bunch of wooden stools behind it, arranged in a way that he can’t fully see yet but still looks chaotic.

“Not what I was expecting,” Harry tells him, hooking their arms together once more. “I like the vases, though. Or urns, maybe, I’m not sure which they’re meant to be, if it matters.”

“Might be referencing the urn he smashed in those pictures.”

“Might be,” Harry mimics, tilting his head as he stares at the images. “They kind of piss me off.”

Zayn smiles. “I read it’s not a real two thousand year old urn, but one he made using the same process. Not sure of the legitimacy of that, but,” Zayn shrugs, like it might make a difference. “A lot of artists enjoy destroying things, or it would appear like they’re destroying things. It begs the question, when does art start and end, I suppose. What makes something art and what doesn’t.”

“Did you research for our date tonight?” Harry teases.

“Might have. I wasn’t entirely familiar with him or his work. Not sure how I feel about it, but it’s not the worst contemporary art I’ve ever seen.”

“If you’re feeling like you want to insult Jeff Koons then, just do it,” Harry encourages, making Zayn laugh.

“You’re not a fan of the balloon dogs?”

Harry snorts. “Not for several upon several upon several million dollars I’m not. Though, it might be a nice conversation piece when I have a hot pink metal balloon dog taking up most of my lawn. Sidewalk, I guess, since this is the city and I don’t actually have any grass to my name,” Harry finishes, smiling.

Zayn laughs, patting Harry’s arm and guiding him towards the area with the stools. They are chaotic, just like Zayn knew they would be, but it’s almost feels assaulting, leaving the vases. There’s a small amount of space left between them to navigate the room so they don’t knock into the stools. It’s obviously intentional but Zayn and Harry, and most guests, don’t really seem all that pleased with the atmosphere of it, if the way people are rushing to get out of the room.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” Zayn finishes, breathing out harshly. “The vases still piss you off?”

Harry laughs and it’s startlingly loud, causing Zayn to jump. “The vases do, but that just make me nervous,” Harry decides, pulling on Zayn’s arm away from the art and towards the front where they got their drinks. Harry grabs two more, passing one off to Zayn. “Is this what you thought it would be when you stole my tickets?”

Zayn grins over the rim of the glass. “You left those there on purpose.”

“Maybe I did.” Harry smirks and shrugs. “You’ll never know any other way.”

“Should we put money on it?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna make a bet with me,” Harry says. “I’m pretty good with bets.”

“I bet you are,” Zayn says.

Harry nods, his smiling turning down just a pinch as he takes a drink, like there’s something more there that Zayn should be asking about but it’s gone before Zayn can really think about it.

“You wanna steal some snacks?” Harry asks, pointing towards a woman carrying a tray. “I’m scared to know what’s on there.”

“Some kind of fish,” Zayn guesses. “For some reason, events like this thrive off fish.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he laughs, stepping around Zayn to stop the girl. He says something to her, making her laugh as he takes two of whatever she’s passing around.

“You’re a flirt,” Zayn whispers, nudging Harry with his elbow.

Harry shrugs. “And you’re right,” he says, handing Zayn a tiny crab cake. “Though, I bet you knew the menu when you did your research to try and impress me.” Harry grins before he drops it in his mouth, cheeks puffing out as he chews obnoxiously.

It’s oddly endearing. Zayn sort of wants to push his own food into Harry’s face like people do to each other at weddings. He’s never understood the appeal until now, watching Harry chew like some sort of farm animals, mouth open more than it is closed. Harry’s eyes scan the room, drinking slowly. Zayn watches him, chewing thoughtfully and trying to figure out what it is about Harry.

“Do you see that guy over there?” Harry says, turning back to look at Zayn. “The one with the blond hair and so-black-it’s-almost green suit?” Zayn glances around and then nods, spotting the man in question through the glass separating the food from the art. “He despises my boss.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah. Works for rival magazine,” Harry explains. “It goes deeper than that, though. They used to date the same guy. Instead of hating him, they decided to hate each other.”

“Funny how it works out like that,” mumbles Zayn, smiling at Harry.

Harry smiles back and shrugs, turning back to the crowd to say, “And see that woman in the orange dress?”

“Hard to miss her,” Zayn says, spotting the woman easily. Her dress is orange and long, lace up back in white. It matches perfectly to her hat, one of the ones that woman wear to derby’s, tall and extravagant. “She was married to a man that used to sleep with my boss every Thursday during lunch.”

“Oh,” Zayn mutters, blinking. “That’s pretty intense.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, almost sadly. “I’m glad she’s divorced now. Her husband was a dick.”

“Because of the cheating or because of something else?”

Harry shrugs and laughs. “Both, I bet,” he says, snagging another drink from a worker moving past them. “She deserves better. Better husband, better dress,” he laughs. “I love seeing what people wear to these things.”

“Dressed like that, I bet you do.”

Harry preens, pretending to model his outfit for a moment before he drains his drink. He shakes his head, smiling at Zayn. “You like it,” Harry says decidedly, grinning when Zayn shakes his head. “You do. You think I’m the sexiest one here, funky suit and all.”

Zayn smirks because it’s true. Or maybe it’s true. Zayn’s not really been paying much attention to anyone else; he wouldn’t know what anyone else in this place looks like because he hasn’t been paying them an ounce of the attention that he has Harry.

“I suppose you’re right,” Zayn agrees, catching Harry’s hand and pulling him in.

Harry hums, kissing Zayn on the cheek. “So you’ll get me something to drink, then?”

“Of course,” Zayn agrees, stepping away and looking around.

There’s someone just a bit away, tray of drinks in her hand and talking to someone else. Zayn approaches her silently, grabbing a flute of champagne and bringing it back towards Harry.

“Here you are,” he says, trying to pass the drink over. Trying being the operative word, because Harry just stares at it, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want alcohol. My head is already feeling a little fuzzy. Do they have anything else?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” says Zayn. “Let me go and ask someone.”

Harry grins, nodding when Zayn doesn’t move straight away. Right then. Tracking down the woman with the tray from just a moment ago, Zayn finds out that they have sparkling water available, so Zayn snags one of those and passes the champagne back to an awaiting Harry, whose back is turned towards Zayn, head tilted upwards and examining the ceiling.

“They have sparkling water,” Zayn says to announce his presence.

Harry turns, nose wrinkled and the frown back on his face. “No, I can’t have that,” Harry says. “That’s only going to upset my stomach. Zayn, I was just drinking. Come on,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean and I’m not even going to pretend that I do,” Zayn tells him because at no point in his life has anyone talked down on sparkling water because they’ve been drinking. There are plenty of other reasons why someone would turn down sparkling water, the main one being that it’s sparkling water and it’s disgusting.

“It means what I said. It’s going to upset my stomach. Do they have any orange juice?”

“Orange juice?”

“Yeah, it’ll make my stomach feel less queasy.”

“I have never heard that, but I don’t think that they have that here.”

“Well, you haven’t asked,” Harry points out, laughing.

Zayn looks at him in complete and utter disbelief because a black tie event isn’t going to serve fucking orange juice and not one person in all of the world actually believes that orange juice would do anything for an upset stomach besides make it completely and unbearably worse, except for the man standing in front of him. The man that Zayn is supposed to be getting to fall in love with him, so, with a smile, Zayn says: “I’ll go and find out if they have any.”

“Thank you,” Harry calls after him.

Zayn mumbles under his breath, navigating through the room until he spots the first employee that he can. “Excuse me,” Zayn interrupts, smiling apologetically. “I was wondering if you had any orange juice.”

“No, I’m sorry,” the man says easily and simply, in the only answer that he could actually say given the situation that they’re in.

“I thought so. Thanks anyway,” Zayn says, smiling once more before he turns and heads back towards Harry. “They don’t have any.” He leaves out the ‘I told you so’ because it’s not going to make Harry want to fall for him.

Harry sighs. “Zayn, I could really use some orange juice right now. I’m thirsty. Really thirsty.”

Zayn shrugs, unsure what Harry expects him to do right now. “They don’t have any, Harry, but we can pick some up after this. I know there’s a place a few blocks over; it’ll only take us five minutes.”

“But I’m thirsty now,” Harry informs him, almost like a child.

“Okay. Well, I’m not sure what you want me to do about that,” he blurts out, watching Harry’s eyes go wide in shock before he schools his features, blinking and turning away from Zayn. “No, no,” Zayn mutters, stepping forward and gently placing his hands on elbows where they’ve folded across his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry sniffs, head still turned away from Zayn.

“No, it’s fine. When you’re thirsty, you’re thirsty. Is there anything that I can do?”

Harry doesn’t answer him, just continues to stare at people, the walls, the ceiling, anything but Zayn as he thinks of an answer. Zayn doesn’t let go of him, keeps his touch soft and light, waiting for Harry to shrug him away. He doesn’t, instead he says, “You could run to that shop you mentioned. You said it was only five minutes away. I think I remember it, when I was walking from the El, so maybe you could run there really quickly and sneak me in some juice.”

Zayn nods along, waiting for the punch line. “You want me to run to the store. Leave to get you juice.”

“Oh my god, will you?” Harry asks, grinning again, almost bouncing as he turns to look at Zayn.

Zayn takes a deep breath and smiles. “All right,” he agrees, nodding his head and trying to make sure that his face isn’t giving away what a moronic plan that this is.

“You’re the best,” Harry says, kissing Zayn’s cheek. “I’ll be right here waiting for you, keeping your spot warm.”

Zayn smiles and doesn’t give himself a chance to think about it before he turns and heads towards the exit. He’s not even sure if he’s going to be allowed back in but he still has his ticket shoved in his pocket and Harry’s inside in case he needs him.

It’s not a long walk to the convenience store, or it wouldn’t be if the one that was close by were actually open at this time. So much for convenience, Zayn thinks, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see if there’s anything close by on his map. But his phone is dead so Zayn will just have to navigate the city by foot, searching for what he needs like people used to do, by using luck and hoping that they find what they’re looking for in a reasonable time frame.

Though, he bets no one has ever had their date beg for orange juice at a black tie event, forcing them to leave said event to navigate the city on their own in search of some kind of orange juice.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Zayn finds a place, too many blocks away to count but they have orange juice, _cold_ orange juice, so Zayn doesn’t really care. He almost tips the place because he’s so happy that he can head back to the opening and maybe sit down and remember why he doesn’t like to do a lot of walking in his nice shoes. These specific nice shoes, as he ignores the pain in his ankles.

There’s a crowd of people outside of the AIC when he makes it back. The valet is running around, passing keys to people so they can get in their cars and rushing off to retrieve their cars. Some people are making their way down the lamp lit street, couples checking out for the night. Zayn’s confused, frowning and looking around at the crowd outside and the people slowly trickling out of the building.

“You missed the artist,” someone says, startling Zayn. It’s Harry, stepping back and smiling at Zayn. “I thought I heard he was going to be here but I didn’t think he’d come out and talk to everyone during those last couple minutes. The thing ended about ten minutes ago.”

Zayn smiles, tight and not the least bit happy about the way that he evening seems to be ending. He releases a deep breath, remembering the orange juice in his hand. “Found this for you,” he says, holding out the orange juice as he decides that he’s not going to let that beverage ruin his night.

“Oh no,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m okay. Thanks, though.” He smiles at Zayn, looping their arms together, gently pulling Zayn in the direction of the El, never bothering to take the orange juice from Zayn.

+++

Zayn’s not without his faults; he likes to leave his plates sitting in the sink after dinner, he’s late to work more than he is on time, and sometimes he shoves his dirty socks into the side of the couch when he takes them off at night and he’s watching TV. And, apparently, he also likes to leave his phone on loud while he’s sleeping.

The sound startles him, penetrating the silence of the night like a gun shot would, jerking him awake so violently that he thinks his heart might have stopped for a moment. He breathes out harshly when he realizes where he is and that the noise isn’t cause for alarm, at least not the level of alarm that has him clutching his chest and glancing around in the dark, wetting his lips and trying to figure out what time it is.

The clock on his bedside table lets him know that it’s three minutes after five, several hours before Zayn ever wants to see his apartment instead of his dreams, at least on this side of sleep. And because of a phone call no less, Zayn realizes with a groan, flopping back on his bed and pulling the blankets over his head. It does nothing to soften the shrill sound of the ring, but in a few short seconds it’ll stop; and it does, cutting off abruptly and giving Zayn the greatest relief of his life.

Until it starts again, of course, just mere seconds after it ended.

“No,” Zayn groans, drawing out the word as he stretches, kicking the blankets off his body. He stares at the ceiling, wondering what he’s done wrong.

Zayn’s not going to answer the phone. He’s just not. It’s too early for anyone to think making a phone call is decent. Zayn doesn’t know anyone on the other side of the planet, who might be forgiven for calling at this time, which only furthers his desires to throw the phone across the room and listen to it shatter. Hopefully it’ll shatter, like they do in the movies so he can feel the sick satisfaction of knowing that _he_ stopped his phone and it won’t start again.

But then he thinks about his mom and his sisters, the only people that he can think about calling him at this time and the thought of there being some kind of emergency has him bolting up, scrambling across the bed to check and see if it’s them.

It’s not, and Zayn feels himself breath out for the briefest of seconds until he sees that it’s Harry.

Harry is calling him at five in the morning. Or was, as the phone shuts off once more in his hand. He checks quickly, seeing that it was Harry who called before and is calling once more as Zayn startles with the new incoming call.

No, Zayn thinks, shaking his head and pressing the button on top of his phone to silence the call. No, he’s not going to answer any phone calls at this time. He’s going to go back to sleep and to ensure that, he flips the switch on his phone, silencing it against future calls, before he lies back down, closing his eyes and sighing. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that nothing is going to come between him and his sleep until he absolutely has to wake up for work.

Work. Work and Harry, Zayn thinks, biting his lip, because he’s supposed to be making Harry fall in love with him and love isn’t rejected phone calls in the middle of the night or early hours of the morning, depending on how you look at it.

“Fuck,” Zayn curses, aggressively kicking the blankets off his body and blindly grabbing for his phone. “Hello?”

“Zayn,” Harry shouts into the phone, loud and vibrant.

Zayn hums, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” Harry answers, still too chipper for the early hours. “I just wanted to make sure that you were up so you wouldn’t be late for work.”

Zayn blinks and pulls his phone away, squinting to check the time once more. “Thanks, but I, uh—I have an alarm, Harry.”

Harry snorts. “You can’t trust those, so up! Get up. Up and at ‘em.”

“Okay,” Zayn mumbles, stretching back out and using his legs to kick the blankets up until he can pull them over his body, turning on his side and closing his eyes. “I’m up,” he lies.

“Do I need to come over there?” Harry says and Zayn has to bite back a groan because no.

“No, I’ll be all right,” Zayn lies and promises in one, scratching his nose and hoping he doesn’t fall asleep before he can get Harry off the phone.

“Okay, I’m coming over,” Harry decides. “I’ll catch a cab; it’ll be faster at this time than the El.”

“No,” Zayn protests. “I’m getting up, okay?” He rushes into the bathroom, starting the shower and holding the phone as close as he can to the water so Harry can hear it. “I’m up.”

“Good job,” Harry tells him. “I’ll call again in an hour or so, make sure that you’re making progress.”

Before Zayn can protest, Harry is making a kissing noise into the phone and hanging up.

Zayn stands in his bathroom, breathing out and leaning against the shower wall. He doesn’t doubt that Harry will call again or show up at his door, so Zayn strips and gets into the shower, deciding it can be an early morning for once.

By the time Zayn makes it into work, he’s gone through three different phone calls with Harry, and he had to take the train to work instead of his bike because he’s so tired, so exhausted that he didn’t want to risk falling asleep and getting into an accident.

Maggie looks surprised to see him when he stumbles into work, smiling at her before he disappears into his office, resting his head on the desk and breathing out, hoping that he’ll be done with the day for good in a matter of minutes instead of hours.

“I brought you some coffee,” Maggie says and Zayn turns, resting his cheek on the desk to look up at her. “You look like you could use it.”

Zayn laugh cuts off with a yawn, smiling as he lifts himself off the desk and accepts the beverage. Harry had tried to convince him to have a smoothie this morning but Zayn got out of it, promising that he’ll make some eggs and eat some strawberries instead. He didn’t, of course, so when Maggie drops a muffin on his desk Zayn almost cries.

“I’ll bring you your messages later,” she promises, biting back an amused smile. “You have a meeting at ten, don’t forget.”

“Joy,” he mumbles, watching as she moves around his office, slowly and deliberately twisting close the blinds in his office. “You’re the best.”

“Should I wake you before your meeting?”

Zayn laughs, taking a sip of his coffee and shaking his head. “No, I’ll be okay. If I fall asleep then I’m sure Louis will wake me up.”

“After he draws a dick on your face,” Maggie jokes, grinning as she shuts his office door closed, leaving Zayn to rest his head on his desk alone. He wishes he had a twisty straw so he could sleep and drink his coffee without having to lift his head.

It feels like Zayn blinks and it’s time for his meeting, his door bursting open with only the kind of energy and force that Louis could muster, not even for this time of day, but for every moment of the day.

“You look like shit,” Louis says in greeting, dropping down in a chair and grinning, stealing Zayn’s muffin off his desk, taking a bite before passing it back.

“All right?” Niall asks.

“Fine,” Zayn mumbles, rubbing at his face for a moment. “Though, I genuinely don’t know what we’re doing here. Should I?”

Niall laughs and nods. “Yeah, we need to talk about the—Which account is it?”

“Miller,” Louis says.

“Yeah, the Miller account. She sent over some ideas that she wants for some ads she wants in a magazine. One page.”

“Her ideas are fucking awful,” Louis says, leaning back and resting his feet on Zayn’s desk.

Zayn nods and remembers vaguely that Richard gave them this account when it fell through with one of their competitors. Zayn doesn’t remember the full details of it but his memory starts to jog the longer that he, Louis, and Niall talk about it. Zayn creates rough sketches based on her ideas, adding tweaks and changing things where they all see fit until they think they might have something that their client might like, hopefully. She’s been a pain in the ass throughout the process so far, but Zayn can understand her desire for perfection, after all, it is her company that is being advertised.

There’s a soft knock on Zayn’s door, interrupting Louis’ rant about how they’re not running the ad with a bright red background, no matter what the client says.

“Hey, Maggie,” Zayn says, waving her in. “What’s up?”

“You have a phone call.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, eyes still on the sketch as he lifts his phone off the receiver. “Zayn Malik speaking.”

“Zayn,” a bright voice says, one that Zayn instantly recognizes from hearing it all morning. “I miss you.”

“Still?” Zayn laughs, setting the pencil down and leaning back in his chair, holding up a finger, silently asking Louis and Niall to hold on a second.

“Of course,” Harry answers. “What are you doing?”

“I’m at work, in a meeting, actually. We’re trying to figure out some sketches for an ad.”

“Oh, so professional.”

“It is. What are you doing?”

“I’m at lunch,” Harry tells him. “Started thinking about you and figured I should call you.”

“I bet you did,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “How about you find something for us to do tonight. We’ll go out, anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere,” Zayn repeats. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Harry says, his grin evident through the phone. “You spoil me.”

Zayn smiles and hums, listening to Harry say bye before he hangs up, dropping the phone down and running his fingers through his hair. He breathes out, counting to five before he grabs his pencil again, ready to get back to work.

“Is that the ball and chain?” Louis asks and Zayn laughs.

“You have no idea,” he mutters.

+

The restaurant Harry picked out is one that Zayn’s never heard of before. It’s tucked between a Laundromat and a business center. It looks discreet on the outside; black bricks and white lettering, a big window that lets Zayn peek inside. It’s dimly lit and it takes Zayn’s eyes a moment to adjust before he spots the hostess, giving her his name. Harry is the one who made the reservations, promising that he’d meet Zayn here, but a quick look around and word from the hostess tells Zayn that Harry hasn’t arrived yet.

Zayn’s taken to the back, an outdoor patio area with fairly lights and vine flowers that hang overhead, creating an atmosphere that not even Zayn can deny is anything but romantic.

Zayn feels slightly out of place. He’s dressed nicely, but he’s alone, sitting at a table by himself while couples surround him, pressed together, and it leaves him nervous, wondering if he should call Harry. Harry, who called Zayn twice more when he was at work, wanting to know if Zayn had any food allergies that he should worry about and to let him know how excited he was. Not excited enough to be on time, but excited enough to call Zayn at work.

When the waiter arrives, Zayn listens to him introduce himself and waits for him to ask if he’d like anything to start off with anything or get anything to drink before he says, “I’m actually waiting for someone.”

“Oh,” Adam, the waiter, says.

“He should be here soon. He’s got long, curly-ish hair. I’m not sure what he’s wearing, but he really should be here soon,” Zayn promises once more, still feeling a bit like an ass for being alone when no one else is. “I’d like to wait for him before I order anything, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’ll keep an eye out for him,” Adam promises, giving Zayn a smile before he drifts to his next table.

And Zayn doesn’t really have to wait long, because after a minute Harry drops into the seat next to him, smiling at him in a way that can only be described as cutting and angry, harsh around the edges even if Harry looks pleasant enough.

“Were you having fun?” Harry says and Zayn frowns. “Flirting. Were you having fun flirting?” Harry clarifies, resting his head in his hands and looking at Zayn.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry laughs, but he’s anything but amused and it leaves Zayn even more confused. “There was just a man at the table, Zayn. I watched you flirt with him.”

“Our waiter?” Zayn cries, biting back laughter. “I don’t think I was flirting with him.”

Harry shrugs. “I know flirting when I see flirting, and you were flirting,” Harry says.

“Okay,” Zayn mumbles, wishing that he had something to drink. He’s not going to dignify any of this with some kind of argument.

Zayn wishes that he could understand Harry, he really does. One moment he’s this amazing guy that Zayn can’t believe he’s lucky enough to spend time with, lucky enough to have been picked to be around for these ten days, and then the next moment something happens and Harry is driving Zayn up the wall, like he purposely wants everything to be completely awful and to go completely wrong for them. And it makes getting Harry to fall in love with him so frustratingly hard that Zayn wishes he could shut down for a moment to work up the energy it takes to keep up with Harry.

“Wow,” Harry mumbles, forcing out a bitter laugh that makes Zayn sigh. “So you admit it.”

“No, I don’t think I did.”

“I literally just head you with my ears. You agreed that you were flirting with him.”

“No, I wasn’t, Harry. I was telling him that I’d like to wait to order my drink because I’m waiting on my very, very attractive date that was meeting me here, and if he could please keep an eye out for him so someone else doesn’t try and snatch him up,” Zayn lies, leaning forward so he’s closer to Harry, resting his hand on Harry’s arm.

Harry looks at him, eyes drifting from Zayn’s hand to his face. He hums and says, “You’re just trying to pacify me, and luckily for you, I love compliments, so I forgive you for flirting with him.”

Zayn smiles, keeping his hand on Harry’s arm, grateful that he’s skipped the blowout. Harry grins at him, kissing him on the cheek, and then flipping open his menu.

“What do you recommend?” Zayn asks.

“Oh, you’re gonna trust me with this?” Harry teases, laughing, the tight frustrated air from earlier no longer surrounding him.

Zayn nods, leaning back when Harry steals his menu from him, shoving it to the side so they can read from the same one. “You picked it, so yeah, I trust you.”

“Okay, then,” Harry says, grin spreading, “get ready for the best food you’ve ever hard.”

And it is. Zayn’s not a huge fan of sitting at restaurants, not when he can order take out and spend the night on the couch. So while he frequently grabs food, there are plenty of places that he’s never even considered going into, and this would have been one of them, if he knew it existed, but it’s so good. Zayn finishes every last bit of his food until his stomach is full and settled, content in the way that only a full stomach can be.

“That was amazing,” Zayn tells him, leaning back as the waiter takes away their plates. He promises the check and Zayn nods, not really worried about it at the moment.

“I told you it would be,” Harry says, leaning into Zayn’s space and smiling at him. “Did you really like it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Zayn promises, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders, squeezing before sliding his hand down to rub at Harry’s back. “I guess we’ll leave you to pick out the dinner places from now on.”

Harry laughs. “What should we do now?”

“You could come back to my place,” Zayn tells him because Harry’s been—He’s great. And Zayn really doesn’t want the night to end, no matter how it started out.

Harry nods, content. “You pay for this and I’ll buy us drinks at the bar.”

“You’re not ready to leave?”

“Not just yet,” Harry tells him, pulling his napkin off his lap and tossing it on the table as their waiter drops their check off. Zayn gets him to stay for a moment, pulling his wallet out and handing over his card. “Is that okay with you?” He finishes once they’re alone again, looking at Zayn with wide green eyes.

“I don’t really mind,” Zayn assures him.

“Then I’ll meet you out there?”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, leaning back and watching as Harry stands up. He stretches a little before leaning back down and kissing Zayn on the cheek. It’s sweet and Zayn watches him disappear back into the main part of the restaurant where the bar is.

It’s only a few minutes before Adam returns with the check, assuring Zayn that it’s been a pleasure as he clears away the remaining plates. Zayn knows it’s a line that waiters feed to every customer, wanting them in and out of the table so that they can get someone else in. It’s been a while since Zayn has been there, serving tables to make a little extra money on the side, so he does his best to move quickly, signing the check and dropping cash down so he can go and join Harry.

The restaurant is still busy, nearly bursting to life as the night crowd begins to draw in. There’s not as many people eating inside, most of them hanging around the bar and trying to get a few drinks in to end their day. Harry’s closer to the door, standing and talking to some guy. He is tall and burly, nearly twice as wide as Harry is, with an ugly sort of sneer on his face. Harry looks uncomfortable, shaking his head, and muttering something that Zayn can’t make out but the look on his face makes Zayn push through the crowd a little faster.

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head and leaning away from the guy. “I’ve already told you, I’m not interested. Now, will you ple—“

“Hey,” Zayn says, stepping in next to Harry, putting a hand on his back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, nodding.

Zayn brushes his hand on Harry’s back, looking over towards the stranger to see him looking Zayn up and down.

“This the boyfriend?” He asks, nearly spitting out the words.

“Yeah, this is the boyfriend,” Harry says, smirking. “Now, will you fuck off?”

“Harry,” Zayn says, tugging him closer. “You sure everything is okay?”

“I’m fine, but he won’t leave me alone.”

Zayn nods and breathes out, tugging Harry back so that he’s not standing so close to the other guy. He’s trying to be a barrier between them because Zayn doesn’t trust this strange guy, not with the look on his face and his inability to take Harry’s no for an answer. “He’s interesting, man. He’s said, you heard it, so how about you go find someone else?”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

“I’m not going to do anything,” Zayn says. “I just want you to leave this one alone.”

The guy laughs, looking behind him like he has friends somewhere and he wants to see if they’re seeing this. Zayn’s not interested in putting on a show for anyone. He just wants the guy to back off so he and Harry can enjoy their night once more before they retire back to Zayn’s for a while, where, if all goes well, Harry will be in one of his better moods.

“Listen, you’re seriously making people uncomfortable, so can you go?”

“Your little boyfriend is the one who came over here.”

“All right,” Zayn sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Harry, let’s go.”

“No,” Harry says, tugging back on Zayn’s arm. “I think we should stay.”

“No, we’re gonna leave. We’ll have drinks at my place, okay?”

Harry shakes his head. “You should kick that guy’s ass, Zayn.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “No, come on. We’re not going to have a good time if we stay, so let’s go.”

It happens so quickly that it feels like Zayn blinks and he’s on the floor, pain radiating in his cheek. He lies there for a moment, listening to Harry shout something, slowly registering the fact that the asshole punched him in the face. Someone’s there, tugging the guy away, probably tossing him out, and Zayn’s waiting for his turn to go as he stands.

Instead, Harry is there, running his fingers over Zayn’s face. He’s muttering something, asking if Zayn’s all right. Zayn nods at him, flexing his jaw to see if it even works. Half of his face is throbbing, and it feels like nothing short of a miracle that he’s not being dragged out of the bar right now.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters, digging into an empty glass on the bar and pulling out a piece of ice. He presses it against Zayn’s cheek, looking at him with wide worried eyes. “I didn’t think that would happen.”

“Typically, when you say kick his ass, I think someone usually kicks someone’s ass,” Zayn says, letting Harry circle the ice around on his cheek, ignoring the melting water trailing down his cheek and dripping onto his shirt.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, biting his lip, waiting.

Zayn nods, wrapping his hand around Harry’s wrist. “I’ll be okay,” he says, and he will, even if his cheek is going to show evidence of this for days.

Harry looks at him, nodding slowly like he’s trying to process and accept those words. His smile comes slowly, soft and hesitant. “Good,” he says, removing the ice so he can kiss Zayn’s skin.

+++

When Zayn opens his door the following day, Harry feels bad. Really bad. There’s a bruise on Zayn’s cheek, bright purple and glaring at Harry like it knows that he’s to blame for messing with Zayn’s flawless complexion. And he is. There’s not a doubt in anyone’s mind that Harry is the one to blame for Zayn getting punched.

It’s not as bad as it could have been, and it’ll be gone in a few days, but Harry still knows he’s a fucking asshole. That guy had been bothering him yesterday, kept pushing and pressing, trying to get Harry to do…whatever the fuck ever creeps like him want from someone like Harry. But still, Harry was—Everything he did was so uncalled for and he doesn’t know how to apologize without telling Zayn that he’s being a royal pain in the ass so he can get freedom at his job.

Harry did apologize, though, after they stumbled out of the bar and Harry took Zayn home. He made sure that Zayn knew how sorry he was, but Zayn, the angel that he is, kept telling Harry to forget about it and it’ll be a cool story to tell at work when everyone asks what happened to him.

“Look at my hero,” Harry says, dropping the box in his hands on the ground next the door. He throws his arms around Zayn’s neck, leaning into him and smiling, kicking the door closed.

“Yeah, looks good, doesn’t it?”

“You bet it does,” Harry agrees, kissing Zayn quickly before he pulls away, letting his hands fall down to his sides. “Something smells good.”

“That’s because I’m making you dinner.”

“Oh, well, it smells delicious.”

Zayn smiles at him. “I figured we could eat here and watch movie. Minimal risk of me getting punched in the face, I hope.”

Harry barks out a laugh, covering his mouth. Zayn’s eyes shine. “I promise I won’t punch you,” Harry says, holding out his pinky and waiting for Zayn to loop his around Harry’s own, sealing off the promise.

Zayn’s little finger squeezes Harry’s, and he smiles. “I’m gonna finish up. Make yourself at home.”

“I will,” Harry mumbles, watching Zayn move back towards the kitchen. He most definitely will be making himself at home.

It took a while to figure out what he should do next, what he could do that could chase Zayn away. Getting him punched in the face had not been part of the plan, not once would Harry want that to happen to Zayn. He’s putting him through enough without a physical altercation. So, it took him a while coming up with something that could work, and really, when Harry thinks about it, what better way to scare off your boy than by acting like you’re partially moving into their home? Harry can’t think of much, which is why he brought a box of goodies with him.

Harry heaves the box up, disappearing down the hall into Zayn’s bedroom area. He flicks the lights on, tossing the box on the bed before moving towards the bathroom. It’s clean and white, a glass square shower tucked in the far corner with a bath behind the door. The countertops span the length of the wall, stopping only for the toilet, and Harry has to admit, it’s a nice bathroom. It’s modern and sleek, with crisp lines. There’s an assortment of products near the sink, tucked neatly together, and Harry thinks that it’s the perfect place to start.

From his box, Harry grabs the black travel bag and heads back into the bathroom. He puts some of his own shampoo into the shower, looping a bright pink loofah around the shower knob. Next, he lines up some hair products and cologne next to the sink, dropping a yellow toothbrush into the holder. He hangs a towel on the hook next to Zayn’s, then runs back for his box so that he can toss a pair of slippers onto the mat on the floor in front of the shower.

Harry’s never worn these slippers before in his life, but he found them tucked in the back of his closet and thought they’d be perfect just for this. And they are, fuzzy and purple, sticking out nicely against the black rug.

Moving back into the bedroom, Harry pulls open one of Zayn’s dresser drawers, carefully removing the clothes within it and tucking them into another drawer. It’s cramped but Harry manages to shut it enough that it shouldn’t drive Zayn too crazy. Harry tucks his own items inside of it, boxers and socks, a couple shirts and pants that he’s not worn in ages and can stand to lose.

There’s only a few more things left in the box, and the next bit has Harry avoiding his face in the mirror because he’s so embarrassed that he has to do this, but he wants more freedom at his job. He wants to be able to write about what he wants to write. He doesn’t want to have to resort to tell people how to bleach their assholes. He wants these things so badly, so with a sigh, Harry squares his shoulders and does what he has to do.

Harry places a picture of himself on the table next to Zayn’s bed, turning it so it’s smiling in the place where Harry hopes Zayn’s head lies at night. He puts the other on the dresser, so it’s also staring at the bed, this one a picture Nick took of him on the beach ages ago. People put pictures like that in their bedrooms, don’t they?

With a sigh, Harry grabs the box and heads back towards Zayn.

“Dinner should be ready in a minute,” Zayn calls out to him, watching Harry.

“It still smells great,” Harry tells him, grinning as he digs a CD out of his box. He waves it around, hiding the cover from Zayn and moving towards the music player in the corner.

It takes only a minute for Shania Twain to drift in through the speakers and Harry grins, pleased with himself as he heads towards the kitchen. Zayn’s shoulders are tight as he pulls something off the flame, his back to Harry.

“Interesting choice,” is all he says, grabbing plates from out of the cabinet.

“Oh, you love it,” Harry teases, looking at the bottle of wine on the counter. He reads the label before digging around for two glasses and pouring them a drink. They’re both going to need this for the same reason, because they’re going to be dealing with Harry.

Harry’s singing under his breath, watching Zayn move around when Zayn says, “Saw the box you brought. Anything interesting in it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says, brightening. “I got you something.”

“I’ll carry the plates in, you wanna grab it?”

Harry nods, rushing towards his box and doing his best to hide the contents of it behind his back. Shania’s still singing behind him, encouraging him to make his way over towards Zayn, a grin on his face as he pulls the fern from behind his back and thrusts it forward.

Zayn looks at it, eyebrows raised as he sets plates down on the table. “A plant,” he mumbles, hand on his hip.

“It’s a love fern,” Harry tells him, setting it down in the middle of the table. He fluffs at the leaves for a moment, smiling at it before turning back towards Zayn. “It represents our love.”

“It does?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, rolling his eyes, like it should be obvious to Zayn. “Our love is new and in need of care, just like this fern. It can grow and turn into something magnificent, if you care for it and nurture it, so every time you water the fern you’ll think about us.”

“Uh… Okay,” Zayn mutters, mouth open like he’s trying to figure out what to say next. Harry wants to laugh; instead, he bites down on his lip, staring at the ground like he’s upset. “It’s perfect,” Zayn rushes out. “It’s thoughtful, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry grins. “Should we eat now?”

Zayn nods and grins, pulling out Harry’s chair for him. He explains how he made chicken haleem, a dish that his mother always makes. Harry’s never had it before, and while it doesn’t look like a dish he sees on his social media, it’s actually delicious. There’s freshly baked bread, though Harry’s not sure if the supermarket freshly baked it, or if Zayn actually took the time out of his day to make bread that is suspiciously evenly sliced, but either way, Harry loves it too.

It’s perfect, even if Shania is singing in the background. Maybe it’s even better because Shania is singing to them.

“Leave them,” Zayn says, catching Harry’s wrist when he tries to gather the dishes. “I told you that we were going to watch a movie. Come on.”

“I can at least carry them to the kitchen while you pick something out.”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, you’re the guest. You decide. I’ll take these.”

“Always the gentleman,” Harry mumbles, watching Zayn leave the room. He breathes out, shaking his head and going to turn off the music. He leaves the CD there, another something to help Zayn remember him by.

Zayn’s movie collection is diverse. There’s action and horror, a surprisingly large amount of animated movies – actually, most of them are animated. There’s comedy and romance, and Harry wonders how frequently Zayn curls up on his couch and actually watches _The_ _Notebook_ or _Titanic_ , and that’s fine, because Harry pulls _Love_ _Actually_ off the shelf and decides an old favorite is the best way to go.

“You find something?”

“I did, actually. Besides the fact that you’re a secret Disney nerd, I see you have one of my favorite movies,” Harry says, spinning around and waving the case.

Zayn laughs, dropping on the couch as the TV comes to life. “They’re classics.”

 _“This_ is a classic,” Harry informs Zayn, shoving the DVD into the player before he joins Zayn on the couch. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s good that I had then, isn’t it?”

“I watch it every Christmas with my mom and sister. It’s a family tradition. Does your family have that? Movies you always watch when you’re together?”

Zayn looks like he thinks about it for a moment, brows pulled together before he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You’ll have to start one.”

“Maybe,” Zayn agrees, groaning when Harry drops into him, forcing Zayn’s arm around his shoulders and snuggling into his side as Zayn hits play.

Harry regrets briefly not shutting the lights off but soon forgets that regret when the movie starts to play on the screen. It always feels like going home when Harry watches _Love_ _Actually_ , like the movie is wedged between his ribs somewhere and he can’t help but feel warmth and comfort every time he watches it. And this time isn’t any different; Harry feels like he’s finally breathing again, stress rolling off him slowly and deliberately as the minutes tick by, with Zayn’s fingers brushing against the sleeve of his shirt.

It’s almost—Harry almost wishes that he were here under different circumstances, ones that brought him and Zayn together in a way that different involving Harry’s work and having to lose someone in order to get ahead. Almost wishes for it. Harry doesn’t allow himself to truly feel it because he is here for a reason, so when Sam starts talking to his step-dad about how he’s in love and he can’t do anything about it, Harry closes his eyes and forces himself to cry.

It takes some effort, he has to think about things that he’d rather never think about, but the tears come. The huffing and hiccups are overdramatized and over the top, so much so that he hopes Zayn knows he’s crying and not gasping for air.

“Harry, are you okay?” Zayn asks, trying to lean forward. Harry pushes down on him, wailing and pressing his face into Zayn’s chest.

“I’m fine,” he cries, loud and broken.

“Do you want me to pause it? Are you sure?” Zayn says, frantic, his hand stilling on Harry’s shoulder, like he doesn’t know if he should be touching him or not.

“It’s just,” Harry hiccups, choking on a fake sob, “It makes me think about when my parents got divorced.”

“Oh.”

“It was so hard. I didn’t have these moments with my dad.”

“Oh,” Zayn mumbles again. “Uh…”

It’s a lie. A complete and utter fabrication of Harry’s actual life because he sees his dad as often as he can, and while he’s always felt so much closer to his mom, he’s never felt like his dad was any less of a parent. And they’ve been divorced since he was little, and Harry, again, has always spent like he’s had a perfect childhood.

“I’m sorry,” Harry cries, rubbing his nose on Zayn’s shirt. “I’m ruining our night, aren’t I? God, I’m so sorry. I’m so awful.”

“No. Hey, it’s okay,” Zayn says, quickly trying to reassure Harry.

“I’ll be right back. Just keep watching,” Harry mutters, covering his face and getting up from the couch. He covers his eyes and runs towards Zayn’s bathroom, listening to Zayn shout after him and pause the movie. “I’ll be back,” Harry repeats, locking himself in Zayn’s bathroom with a sigh.

Harry wipes his eyes off on one of Zayn’s hand towels and then sits on the edge of the tub with a sigh, blinking away the tears that he was able to produce.

“Harry, open the door,” Zayn says, knocking lightly. “Please. I just want to make sure you’re all right. I turned the movie off.”

Harry jumps, flicking on the water. “I’ll be out in just a moment. I’m okay.”

“Harry—“

“I’ll be out in a second,” he says, firmly.

Zayn sighs. “Okay. Holler if you need anything.”

Harry waits, too afraid to move. He tries to see if he can hear Zayn through the door, hear him head back to the other room. He can’t, but after a beat, he feels brave enough to take a seat on the tub once more. He pulls out his phone, flicking through different apps and reading texts that he’s gotten since he’s been here. Not wanting to reply to them, he calls Nick.

“Hel—“

“I can’t talk long, I’m in his bathroom, but I cried.”

“You what?”

“I cried. We were watching a movie and I bawled my eyes out.”

“Accidentally?”

Harry scoffs. “Purposely. I’m not an idiot.”

Nick snorts. “I can’t believe you cried.”

“It’ll be fine, he’ll get over it.”

“If someone cried at my place, I’d sneak out of my own window and leave the lease in their name so there was no chance I’d run into them again. All of my belongings would be theirs.”

“Well,” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I’m glad I made the right choice and chose a decent person to do this around.”

“That you did.”

Harry hums, picking at loose thread on his pants. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Not much. About to call it a night, actually.”

“You old man,” Harry teases, getting up and washing his hands. “I guess I should let you get to sleep, and let Zayn breathe again. I’m sure he’s freaking out.”

“Don’t go easy on him,” Nick mutters as he hangs up.

“All right,” Harry breathes out, drying his hands off and shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s do this.”

Harry walks out slowly, breathing out and tucking his hands behind his back. He shuffles his feet, standing awkwardly and looking at Zayn under his lashes. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Zayn stands up quickly, holding his hands up like Harry’s a wild animal and he’s worried he might startle him. “Hey, no. You’re fine,” Zayn assures him. “I don’t mind crying. It just surprised me.”

“Yeah, but,” Harry shrugs, actually feeling awkward about all this, “still.”

“Still,” Zayn mumbles. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry frowns, tilts his head to the side. “About what?”

Zayn shrugs, gesticulating with his hands. “About why you cried. About your dad, whatever,” Zayn says.

Harry panics for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. He could say no, knowing that Zayn would let things go and wouldn’t mention it again. Or he could say yes, and make things more uncomfortable for both of them. He’d also have to try and remember whatever lies he spews out, whatever he says has to stick for the remainder of these 10 days and Harry’s not sure that he can actually remember any of this.

So, with the grace of a newborn baby animal, Harry throws himself at Zayn, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s neck and causing them to crash into the couch. He kisses him, quickly and fiercely. Zayn seems confused, lost for a moment, still. Harry wonders if he should pull away before Zayn kisses him back, hands wrapping around Harry’s back, pulling him in.

Harry grins, nipping at Zayn’s lip and pushing him over, getting Zayn on his back so he can crawl over him. This is Harry’s favorite, getting to kiss Zayn. He’s the best at it, the way his hands roam over Harry’s back and into his hair, tugging gently before he starts all over again.

Harry tucks his hands under Zayn’s shirt, feeling the warm, smooth skin that’s there, hidden from the world. Harry is going to sue the government of every country in existence from hiding Zayn’s skin. Whoever created a shirt-wearing norm can eat shit right now. Whatever white, Christian prude did this can fuck himself for being afraid of Zayn’s glorious body, and Harry hasn’t even seen it all yet.

Harry leans up, tugging Zayn’s shirt off. And yeah, Harry’s going to need a good lawyer because Zayn is wonderful. There’s not a part of him that isn’t pretty and perfect and _so_ magnificent. Harry wants to put his mouth on him, so he does, leans down and drags his tongue along Zayn’s tiny abs.

Zayn’s fingers card through his hair, looking at Harry with pink lips and cheeks, watching as Harry leans back and rests on Zayn’s thighs.

When Harry reaches for Zayn’s jeans, fingers connecting with the button, Zayn grabs his wrists. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get you out of your pants.”

“You sure this isn’t a little fast?”

“God, we are going glacially slow right now. A sloth has just finished circling the world. That’s how slow we’re going.”

Zayn laughs, thumb stroking Harry’s skin. “Harry.”

Harry whines like a child, poking Zayn in the stomach. “Come on, I want to see King Henry the eighth.”

“What?”

“No, you’re right. Tsar Nicholas.”

Zayn’s fingers tighten around Harry’s wrist. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t like that? Okay,” Harry mutters, biting down on his lip as he thinks. “Stop me when I say one you prefer, okay? Julius Caesar, George Washington?”

“Hey, no,” Zayn says, leaning up on his elbows. “Whom exactly are we talking about?”

Harry laughs, rolling his eyes. “You know,” he says, trailing his fingers down and pointing, waggling his eyebrows until Zayn gets it.

“Oh, no,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head and pushing Harry out of his lap. “You cannot name my dick.”

Harry has to resist the urge to laugh. He doesn’t even know why he started this and it’s so ridiculous that he thinks if he told Zayn he was kidding that it would be okay, but he can’t say he was just kidding everything else that he’s done; he’s in too deep.

“Do you not like those names?”

“Do I not like you naming my dick after racist white people? No, not really,” Zayn mutters.

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t really thought about that. “Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not even that. It is, but. I’d rather my dick wasn’t named period, if that’s all right.”

“It’s fun, but okay.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. Harry laughs, leaning forward and kissing Zayn. Zayn’s quick to end it, kissing Harry back just briefly before gently easing him off.

“It’s getting late,” Harry tells him, watching Zayn breathe. “I should head home.”

Zayn nods, watching as Harry gets up. Harry leaves his box, instead slides his shoes on and blows Zayn a kiss, who waves from the couch.

Harry slips out easily, getting into the elevator and resting his head on the wall. God, he hates himself. He does. He really does.

+

“I don’t understand how he hasn’t cracked yet,” Nick laughs after Harry tells him about the events last night. “I would have run off ages ago.”

“I don’t either,” Harry cries, stabbing his fork into his lunch. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’m doing everything wrong.”

“Maybe he really likes you,” Liam chimes in, shrugging when Nick shakes his head. “Isn’t that what you do when you really like someone? You put up with all their faults?”

“Yes, Mr. Love,” Harry grumbles, pressing the toe of his boot into Liam’s leg. “I’ve heard that’s what you do.”

Harry takes another bite of his lunch, shaking his head. It’s the following day; Harry heard from Zayn last night, checking to make sure that he got home safely, and then against this morning when Harry sent him a string of kissy faces. Zayn doesn’t seem angry, so Harry’s not sure if he should apologize again for trying to name his dick. Apologizing would defeat the purpose of this whole experiment, but Harry can’t help it. He wants to.

“What’s next?” Nick asks, taking an obnoxious bite of his burger. “How are you going to scare off the guy that is unafraid?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are you using pet names?” Liam asks.

“No,” Harry admits. “I could, but I still don’t think that’s strong enough.”

“Maybe if you had called him baby or muffin after calling his dick Tsar Nicholas he’d be done with you,” Nick says.

Harry laughs. “That could very well be true. Or not, since nothing is working.”

“What’s not working?”

Harry jumps, spinning in his chair to see his boss staring at him, brow raised.

“Oh, nothing. We’re talking about the guy I’m seeing.”

“I see,” Victor says. “And how is that going?”

“Oh, it’s going well,” Harry informs him, smiling. “We’re plotting right now.”

“I love that. Carry on,” Victory says, waving his hand at them as he bounces off, off to bother someone else with his surprise drop-ins.

“Should have told him the truth,” Nick mutters, “That the guy is in love with you and he’s not going anywhere.”

Harry snorts. “He’s not in love with me.”

“You should go to his work,” Liam suggests and Harry stills, fork held in the air as he looks from Nick to Liam. “What? Is that dumb?”

“No, it’s genius,” Harry says.

“Please tell me you’ve never done that before,” Nick mutters, frowning at Liam.

Liam shrugs like he’s not going to answer and Harry doesn’t think he wants to know the answer, even though it’s obviously going to be yes. “It’s just an idea,” Liam says. “You could pop in and introduce yourself to his co-workers, spend the day in his office, I don’t know.”

“God, this is gold,” Harry mutters, tossing his fork down and wiping his hands off on his pants. “I need more, though. Showing up is good, it really is, but what else can I do?”

“Let inspiration come to you,” Nick says, nodding when Harry gives him a look, because seriously? “Just, get your shit together, and something will strike on the way to see him.”

Harry nods because yeah, he can do that.

+

Zayn’s assistant stares at Harry like there’s something wrong with him when he shows up, one bag slung over his shoulder and another in his hand. There’s a drink tray in his other hand, filled with coffee cups and a shirt folded over his arm, so close to slipping off that he’s worried everything in his hands will fall to the ground.

Harry smiles at her. “I’m here to see my boyfriend, _the_ Zayn Malik,” he says.

“Oh,” she mutters, sitting up. “He’s dat—I mean, yeah. Hold on a second.”

“Of course,” Harry says, taking a step back and watching as she lifts the phone, staring at him suspiciously. “Don’t tell him I’m here, I want to surprise him.”

“I’m supposed to—“

Harry pouts and hopes that she’s the type of person to be swayed by something like this. “I know, but just this once? I know he won’t be angry. Trust me.”

“You’re dating Zayn?” Someone says, a short girl with a pixie cut. She’s flanked on both sides by two other girls, all of them with sparkling eyes and pretty faces, looking at him like they can’t believe it, intrigued in a way that should leave Harry feeling scared.

“I am, yeah.”

“Really? For how long?”

“Oh, a while now,” he lies, grinning. “Do you three work closely with him? I know he has his own little team, or whatever it’s called.”

“Oh, no, not really,” one of them says, looking at the other two. “Maggie does, though, as she’s his secretary.”

“I figured she would,” Harry laughs, turning to grin at Maggie. “I brought four coffees, you want one?”

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m okay.”

“All right, well I should be off to surprise Zayn. He loves surprises, did you know that?”

“No,” Maggie says. “I didn’t think he does.”

“Oh, of course he’s fibbing to the office. He’s such a goof,” Harry laughs. “He loves them, though. “The other night, he was telling me about this one time that—“

“Harry?”

“Zayn!” Harry turns, grinning at the confused look on his face. He turns his face the side, offering Zayn his cheek to kiss. Zayn does, still looking completely lost as he stares between Harry and his co-workers.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“I was talking to your friends,” Harry says, turning and moving his hand with the coffee cups around to show them off.

“Maggie, you’re supposed to call when someone’s here.”

“Oh, I was trying to surprise you,” Harry informs him, winking at Maggie. “I didn’t want her to ruin that. She was going to call you, so don’t be angry with her.”

“I’m not,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want you to be out here waiting. Have you been here long?”

“Only a few minutes.”

“Good.” Zayn nods, breathing out harshly and rubbing his face. “Well, I’m surprised.”

“Are you?” Harry grins, holding out the drink tray towards Zayn, silently asking him to take it. When Zayn does, he says, “Are you going to show me your office, muffin?”

“Of course,” Zayn says, placing a hand on Harry’s back. “Maggie, please let me know if anyone else shows up.”

Zayn’s office is nice. He actually has one, compared to Harry’s little cubicle. There’s a windowed wall where the blinds are down but open, letting in the lights from outside. Zayn’s own lights are off, the room dim but workable. There are two people sitting in chairs across from Zayn’s desk, staring at Harry like they saw him on _The_ _Exorcist_.

“Well, this is it,” Zayn says, setting the drinks down on his desk. “And these two are Niall and Louis, my friends and co-workers. We work together on everything, always have.”

“That’s so sweet,” Harry says, holding out his hand and shaking the blonde’s first.

“Niall,” he says, looking at something above Harry’s head instead of making eye contact. Harry wonders what Niall knows about him, if he’s already looking nervous to meet him.

“Louis.”

“Zayn talks about you all the time,” Harry lies. Or maybe lies, he’s not sure if Zayn has actually ever mentioned them before. “Well, they don’t really look like incompetent morons,” Harry mutters, smiling and rubbing his hands on his pants. “I see what you mean about the one and the sticky hands. It is gross.”

Niall blinks and Louis looks offended, staring at Zayn like he’s asking for permission to say something.

“Right. Well, thanks. That’s…great,” Zayn mutters.

“Zayn talks about you all the time, as well,” Niall says. “All the time. Can’t get him to stop.”

“Who could blame him?” Louis adds, smiling in a way that lets Harry know Louis is out for blood, or wants to be. Harry’s not sure what’s stopping him, but judging by the look he’s getting, Harry’s grateful for whatever it is. “What’s with all that shit?”

“Oh,” Harry startles, forgetting that he still has a bunch of stuff. He sets the bags down on the floor, careful with both of them. “I got you a present. Not you two, but Zayn.”

“Another one?”

Harry unfolds the shirt, holding it in front of him for Zayn to see. “I got you a shirt,” he says, shaking it and trying to show it off.

“Oh shit,” Niall mutters, covering his mouth as his cheeks flame up.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks.

It matches the one that Harry is wearing. He saw it in a store’s window on his way over here, after searching the Internet for Zayn’s work address, and remembering what Nick said about letting inspiration find him, Harry knew that he found a sign. The shirts are kind of ridiculous, bright pink with yellow flowers, a little bit of beading around the front pocket. It screams Hawaiian vacation dad and Harry’s not calibrated to pass something like this up, so he bought two, one for him and one for Zayn.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I—“

“Zayn,” Harry sighs, letting the shirt drop. “It’s a couples thing. Couples do this, have matching shirts.”

“I, yeah. I can see yours,” Zayn says, motioning towards the shirt Harry is wearing, the same one he’s holding out in front of him.

“I think you should try it on,” Louis says from across the room, leaning back in the chair. “I bet pink looks great against your skin.”

“I agree,” Niall laughs, rubbing his palms on his pants. “You should definitely put that on.”

“See? Even your simple-minded friends get it. Try it on,” Harry says, pushing the shirt in Zayn’s direction. “It doesn’t bite.”

“Of course,” Zayn grits out, unbuttoning the shirt that he’s wearing. “I can’t wait to try this on. I was worried you bought me a shirt that I wouldn’t be able to try on in my office.”

“You are so weird,” Harry laughs, taking Zayn’s old shirt and tossing it onto his desk.

Louis snorts. “Pot and kettle, have you met yet?”

“Louis,” Zayn says, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Remember that account we were just talking about a moment ago?” Niall cuts in. “The one that the Yellows want?”

Louis takes a deep breath and nods, folding his arms over his chest. “I was only joking since they’re going to be wearing the same shirts.”

“These shirts are hardly a joke,” Harry says. “Oh, wow. You look so great. Aw, you’re so handsome.”

Zayn grins, tight-lipped and unhappy, looking at Harry and then his friends. “Well?”

“I wish I had my phone,” Niall cackles, body swinging in his seat.

Louis is barely holding it together as well, hand covering his mouth to stifle his laughter, and Harry grins. He reaches forward, unbuttoning a few at the top, spreading the shirt open to show off the lips Zayn’ has tattooed there.

“To make it sexy.”

“Right, because a shirt like that could be anything but sexy,” Louis deadpans.

“Little inappropriate for work,” Niall adds.

Harry laughs, waving off the comment. He rubs his hands along Zayn’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. Harry strokes his thumb along Zayn’s jaw, getting him to look at him. There’s nothing in Zayn’s eyes that make it look like he wants to kill Harry or something, more like he just wants to take the shirt off and burn it at his earliest convenience. But then, Zayn smiles, pressing his cheek into Harry’s hand and Harry thinks it’s okay. The shirt isn’t, but he is.

“Uh, Harry?” Niall says, cautiously and slowly. “There’s something in your purse.”

“Oh,” Harry cries, jumping as he finally remembers what else he brought. He kneels down, unzipping the bag slowly.

The cat inside is fluffy, so fluffy that he looks like an evil scientist. His fur is long, curling up around his eyes to look like he has eyebrows and fur around his mouth that looks like a mustache and beard. There are black rings around his orange eyes, his nose black and hiding behind tufts of fur. He’s so soft and furry, a Persian with little white toes and a black body. Harry saw him through a window and the cat spoke to him. Not literally, of course, but in some way that made Harry feel compelled to buy him.

“We adopted,” he cheers, holding the cat up, pressing it against his chest and grinning at Zayn.

“We what?” Zayn says, looking at Harry like he knows he misheard that statement.

“We adopted. We have a son,” he says, setting the cat down on the desk.

The cat hisses at Zayn, back arching at it stumbles away from him, already outrageous fur standing on end.

“Oh, he’s so grumpy because Papa hasn’t said hello yet.”

“Is that real?” Louis asks.

“Is that actually a cat?” Niall asks, leaning back in his chair like the cat will fly across the desk and attack his face.

Zayn blinks. “Wow. He is…wow.”

Harry grins, reaching out to stroke the cat’s face. “I know how much you hate having things named, especially things that are important to you,” Harry says, winking, “but I’ve named him. Say hello to, King Henry the 8th.”

The cat hisses, jumping onto Zayn’s desk chair and curling up there, staring at everyone like he doesn’t trust them at all. Harry doesn’t blame him for feeling that way. None of the people in the room trust Harry, and he’s not sure he can trust them either, at least not Louis.

“Is that because he kills the people that he loves?” Louis asks.

Harry startles himself with a laugh, unable to be offended by the statement when it’s so outrageous that it’s funny.

“There wasn’t a murder on his adoption papers,” Harry tells him, shaking his head.

“That you know of,” Niall says.

“I like his diamonds,” Zayn says, cutting everyone off before they can go back and forth anymore. “His collar, it’s nice.”

“Oh, I wanted to frost him up a bit,” Harry admits, shrugging.

“Frost?”

“Yeah, my little niece calls it frosting, so. It’s a new thing, I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t known what anyone younger than me is talking about in years.”

Harry smiles and shrugs once more, because what can you do? There’s a point in everyone’s life where they just stop getting the things that they once understood, slang terms and everything fun. His smile drops when he sees the way that Zayn is looking at him, like he’s studying him and putting something together.

“What?” Harry asks, frowning. Zayn shakes his head and smiles, like he figured out whatever it was he was thinking about when Harry spoke to him.

+++

Louis and Niall help Harry leave the building, leaving Zayn to figure out what he’s going to do with the cat. Harry left the purse cat bag thing, claiming that the cat apparently loves it thanks to the previous owner feeding him inside of a carrier. It’s a nice little fact to know, if Zayn could manage to get a grip on the cat.

The cat – King Henry VIII – is staring at Zayn like he’s thinking about killing him, his orange eyes burning through Zayn.

Zayn could just leave him alone, let him settle into the office and hope that he’s okay to go by the end of the day, but the cat is half on his laptop and half on the papers that he needs. His paw is reaching towards Zayn, and while the papers and phone might be able to be saved, the keyboard is a lost cause. And Zayn really needs to use his keyboard, so that means he really needs the cat to be moved.

Zayn’s never had a problem with cats before but he’s never loved them enough to harbor a wanted fugitive in his apartment but his…whatever Harry is to him, obviously wanted Zayn to do just that. Because there’s no way that a cat with a scowl like _that_ is anything other than a criminal from another life. Or maybe the cat is wanted in this life. Can cats be on the lam?

“All right,” Zayn mutters, reaching out slowly and cautiously. “I’m just going to take this.” He slides papers out slowly; the cat jumps up and glares at him, tail swishing in a threatening way. “Okay. Okay, we won’t go for the keyboard it’s fine.”

“Cute cat.”

Zayn sighs, dropping the papers on the other side of his desk. He looks up, smiling at Saffron. Marigold is with her, leaning against his doorframe with her arms folded over her chest, a please smirk on his face. The smirks aren’t from the cat, Zayn thinks.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” Zayn says, resting a hand on his desk, trying to look like he’s not terrified of what the cat might do to it.

“We just left a meeting with Richard,” Saffron says.

“About the Vanderbilt’s,” Marigold adds.

“It went really well.”

Zayn smiles and nods his head. “I’m sure it did,” he says. “You come up with an account slogan yet?”

Marigold smiles at him, tilting her head like she’s about to entertain a small child. “Have you?”

“I have, actually.”

“Well,” Saffron prompts, waving her arm. “Let’s us hear it.

“I guess you’ll find out when the account is mine,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. He thoroughly enjoys the way that they look at each other.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” Saffron says, her smile still perfectly in place. “What’s with the cat?”

“It’s from the boy who is falling madly in love with me, so much so that he adopted a cat so that we can start a family.”

The girls laugh, almost harshly. It wipes the smile off Zayn’s for a fraction of a second because there’s something there, like they have knowledge that Zayn doesn’t, like they _know_ something. But what could they know? Whatever it is, it has Zayn feeling angry, almost irrationally so. Or maybe not; they’ve always been up to any good, why should this be any different?

“Ladies, if you’ll see yourselves out, I have work that needs tending to,” he says, lifting up the papers the cat was just lying on and waving around to emphasis his point.

“Let us know if you need any help with that,” Marigold says with a wave, trailing after Saffron on her way out.

“I will absolutely not do that,” Zayn mutters to himself, pretending to read over the papers until he knows that the Yellows are gone.

King Henry is staring at him, eyes blinking slowly and tail flicking lazily.

+

King Henry is sleeping on the bed when Zayn steps out of the shower, drifting into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. The cat’s eyes crack open just so, watching Zayn as he moves around. Over the course of their first day together, sharing a bed during the night, and King Henry spending the day alone, things seem like they’re getting better between the pair of them. Zayn’s not as scared for his life and King Henry doesn’t look like he’s ready to kill him at any given second.

Zayn’s phone chimes from across the room and he sighs, tossing his clean clothes down on the bed so that he can plug the device in. It was nearly dead before his shower and the last time it died, Harry had seemed furious with him. And speaking of Harry, Zayn notices that he has several missed voicemails on his phone.

With a sigh, Zayn presses the first one, putting it on voicemail and reaching for his clothes.

“ _Zayn, it’s me, just calling to see if you made it home from work. Guess not since you’re not answering your phone. Call me.”_

Zayn will call him. He will. Honestly, he’s going to call Harry, but first he’s going to listen to some of these voicemails to see if there’s anything of any kind of importance on them.

 _“It’s me again. Harry, in case you were waiting for a different boyfriend to call,”_ Harry sighs. _“Call me back.”_

_“You’re not going to believe what I just saw on the train. Call me.”_

_“Hey, am I still coming over tonight?”_

_“Have you ever seen a baby pigeon? I’m not sure that I have. Have you?”_

_“Zayn,”_ Harry sings, voice high and grating. _“Call me when you get this. Miss you, love bug.”_

_“Okay, so this morning I tried this new coffee this morning, per my friend’s request, and I think it fucked my stomach up. TMI, maybe? Sorry, but it really hurts.”_

_“There’s no TMI between lovers. Ha.”_

_“Back to the pigeons. Where do they keep their babies? Like, do they have nests or… Seriously, what’s up with pigeons?”_

“Why doesn't he know how to leave one voicemail,” Zayn mutters, mostly to himself but also to the cat, because he’s there, so why not? “And I don’t know what’s going on with pigeons. I don’t care about pigeons. You might care about them, since, you know, you’re a cat.”

King Henry doesn’t look like he gives a shit about Zayn, his voicemails, or dismay at still have thirteen more to listen to. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. He’s not going to listen to anymore. Maybe just one more…

Zayn’s saved from listening to another voicemail when a knock sounds at his door. “Thank god,” Zayn mumbles, pulling on his shirt and rushing to answer it.

It’s probably one of his neighbors trying to save him. Maybe they heard the voicemails through the walls and knew that someone needed to rescue poor Zayn by asking for a cup of sugar or something neighborly. Zayn’s never actually had any of his neighbors stop by his place to ask for anything, except for the one time one of them pounded on his door at three in the morning to let him know that he forgot to pull his key out of the knob when he came home, but they moved out seven months ago.

“Oh,” Zayn mutters, feeling himself deflate when he gets the door open. “Hey, Harry. I didn’t know you were going to drop by.”

“I tried to call you, but you don’t know how to answer your phone, so you probably didn’t listen to any of voicemails. If you had,” Harry says, stepping into his apartment, his arms filled with stuff, “you would know that I thought about stopping by because you weren’t answering and because I have a surprise you.”

Zayn smiles, shutting the door and refraining from hitting his head against it, because he should have listened to the other voicemails; always listen to the voicemails, he mentally scolds himself.

Zayn’s kind of scared to ask what the surprise is.

“Where’s my kiss?” Harry asks, grinning and clutching his things to his chest.

Zayn complies, stepping forward to kiss Harry’s cheek. And with every ounce of courage that he has, he asks, “What’d you bring?”

“Oh, wow. You’re going to love this,” Harry tells him. “It’s a little silly. A lot silly, actually, but my friend has it done it before and I thought it would be a good idea for us. Just something to fun to try, you know?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn tells him. “But, okay.”

“Right,” Harry laughs, his grinning widening as he flips – what Zayn now sees is a photo album around in his arms.

It’s bright pink with sequins glued onto the front that spell out ‘Styles-Malik Family Album.’ It reminds him of the crafting that is mom and little sister did for a summer, cutting bits of paper and sticking these weird stickers onto the pages between their pictures. It has a name. Photobooking, or something like that. Zayn never actively participated in it but he remembers it, remembers sitting down with his dad and being forced to flip through every page together to see their hard work.

“This is our family album,” Harry says, shaking it. “It’s more like a baby book, but. It’s ours.”

Harry grabs Zayn’s hand, tugging him over towards the table and pushing him into a chair. He sets the album down in front of him and Zayn can’t help but gape at it. There are glittered hearts surrounding the words and other stickers that look like they belong to some kind of baby sticker collection: a rattle, pacifier, little ducks, and diapers.

“I found this program online that allowed me to morph our faces together to see what our babies are going to look like,” Harry exclaims, looking pleased as he sits next to Zayn, pulling his chair closer. “Open it up and take a peek.”

Zayn looks from Harry to the album and back to Harry. What the fuck is going on? This isn’t normal behavior. This is isn’t something that a healthy person would do in a healthy relationship. It’s not even a relationship; Zayn’s co-workers picked Harry out in a bar for some stupid fucking bet, and Zayn hates the Yellows. At first he thought Harry was going to be the best person imaginable to be attached to but he was wrong, he’s the worst person that Zayn could have been stuck with.

But maybe it’ll be worth it. Maybe the challenge of it all will make getting the account and everything that much better. Maybe it’ll feel like he’s really earned it.

Except, the longer that he stares at Harry, the more Harry looks like he’s going to cry or freak out.

“You don’t care about our kids?” Harry says, voice breaking just _so_.

“We don’t have kids,” Zayn says, unable to keep the laugh from passing between his lips but then Harry’s face falls and he’s tugging the album away, off the table and onto his lap, and it should feel like a relief to have the damn thing away from him, but he mostly feels like he’s letting a promotion slip away from him. “No, I meant. Obviously we have King Henry, I just meant… We’re two people that aren’t... Biologically, is what I meant.”

Harry nods, standing up and moving towards the couch. He drops the book down on the table and folds his arms over his chest. Zayn closes his eyes and breathes out, preparing himself, before he jumps up and follows after Harry.

“No, come on. Show me, please.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry mutters, leg bouncing. “You hate our kids, and that’s your problem.”

“I don’t hate them. Please, I really want to see them.” Zayn grabs the book on the table, setting it down on Harry’s lap so he can flip through the pages. He brushes some of Harry’s hair out of his eyes, tilting his face slightly towards Zayn’s direction. “Please.”

Harry’s silent for a second, turning his face away from Zayn and staring up at the ceiling. With a sigh, Harry flips the book open.

On the front page are cut outs of Harry and Zayn when they were little. When they were actually little, like Zayn’s mom has the exact same picture framed and on sitting on the fireplace. There are pictures of them now, their heads glued onto ads from magazines with hearts surrounding their heads.

“I thought it best to show the kids how we started off, you know. You were such a cute little baby,” Harry sighs, brushing his fingers along one of the pictures. “There’s another in here of you with your little front teeth missing and it’s so cute. Oh there it is,” he laughs, flipping the page and pointing towards the picture.

He turns the page once more and there they are, pictures of three children that Harry created just for them. Zayn stares at them, biting down on his bottom lip because they’re so ugly, so scary looking, creating the same feeling in him that he had when he shoved King Henry in his bag yesterday.

Harry’s really excited about it, rattling off a story that he’s made up for them all. They’re going to have a boy first and then another, followed by a little girl. Harry has a list of names picked out, a bunch for each kid in case Zayn doesn’t like some of the ones that Harry chose. And it’s thoughtful, because as beautiful as a rainbow is, Zayn’s not going to name his child that, imaginary or not.

Zayn’s phone rings from the other room and he almost cheers, never having felt so happy for hearing the sound.

“I gotta go get that,” he says, sitting up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Let it ring.”

“I would, but. It could be work,” Zayn says, shrugging. “And you were telling me earlier that I need to start answering my phone, so, what better time to get on that than right now, right?”

He rushes into the next room, happy to see his mom’s picture flashing on the screen.

“Mom,” Zayn breathes out, unplugging the phone and pressing it against his hear. “I am so happy that you called.”

“Are you?” She asks, laughing.

“Yes, you have no idea,” he explains, stepping out of his bedroom and heading towards the living room. He points towards his ear when Harry looks at him, shrugging. “What’s going on? How is everyone?”

“Everyone is fine, darling. How are you doing?”

“I’m great. I’m sitting at home right now with—“

“Harry? Is Harry there, darling?”

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn mutters, turning and looking at Harry with a frown. “He is. How did you—“

“Put him on, sunshine. I want to talk to him.”

“Mom, that’s not—“

“Put him on, Zayn.”

“All right,” Zayn mutters, feeling almost numb as he moves towards Harry holding the phone out towards him.

Harry frowns, taking the phone. “Hello? Oh, Trisha,” he says, brightening completely when he hears Zayn’s mom on the other line.

Zayn drops down on the couch next to him, leaning over and trying to hear what’s being said. Harry swats at him, shoving him away.

“Oh, yeah. No, he was really excited,” Harry says. “No, I haven’t mentioned that to him yet.

Mentioned what? What hasn’t he mentioned to Zayn that he’s mentioned to Zayn’s own mother.

“Yeah, I think he’ll love it, too.”

Zayn loves nothing at this moment in time. Not one single thing.

“Yeah, you’ll have to send me that recipe. I gave you my email, right?” Harry asks and Zayn frowns, leaning over to try and get Harry to look at him. He’s doing everything he can besides crawl into Harry’s lap and hold his face in his hands.

“How do you know my mom?” Zayn whispers, poking Harry in the legs to try and get his attention.

Harry swats at him, getting up from the couch and pacing on the other side of the coffee table. He’s still talking to Zayn’s mom and Zayn can do nothing but watch, confused and concerned, waiting and hoping that he’ll find out what they’re talking about soon enough.

“Aw, I love you, too. Yeah, we’ll talk later. Okay. Yeah, don’t forget the recipe. I’ll give your love, promise. Bye, Trisha,” Harry says, sighing as he hangs up the phone, dropping it on the table. “She’s so great,” Harry mutters, easing himself back onto the couch next to Zayn.

“My mom talks to you? You know my mom?”

“Oh, I called her today. She sent me some of your baby pictures for my album,” Harry explains and Zayn blanches. “I didn’t tell her what for, just that I was making you something. She was really excited to share the pictures, so we talked for a while. She told me loads of stories about you,” Harry teases, poking Zayn in the ribs. “A story for every picture.”

“You talk to my mom?” Zayn cries, unable to keep his annoyance out of his voice.

“It’s not a big deal, Zayn. She just wanted to know if you liked your surprises.”

“Surprises? God, there’s more than one?” Zayn groans, unsure if he can take anymore tonight. Harry talking to Zayn’s mom was a surprise enough. Their non-existent children were a surprise enough. Zayn doesn’t need anything else.

“Of course there’s more,” Harry laughs, patting Zayn on the thigh. “I got us tickets.”

“I don’t know if I can go anywhere, Harry. I was talking to Louis earlier and he was saying how—“

“Zayn, you’ll love this, I promise.”

“You say that about a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but I know you’ll like this because it’s just like last time.”

“Like last time?” mimics Zayn his brows pulled together. “What does that mean?”

“Think about our first day,” Harry says. “Just like last time.”

Zayn takes a moment to think it over. On the one hand, he’s mentally exhausted from Harry, in a way that probably isn’t going to be cured from sending him home tonight and promising they’ll connect again soon. Zayn needs, like, fifty naps and a bottle of expensive alcohol before that could happen.

And on the other hand, it’s free tickets, and as long as Harry doesn’t get a craving for orange juice, Zayn doesn’t see how it could be any worse than lying on his couch and hoping his new cat doesn’t try anything.

“All right,” he mutters finally, nodding. “Lemme just.” He waves towards himself, trying to say that he needs to change his clothes and do something with his hair.

“Hurry up,” Harry calls after him. “It starts at seven.”

+

When Harry said it was going to be _just_ like last time, Zayn thinks there might have been something lost in translation, because last time, to the best of Zayn’s knowledge, they didn’t see Shania Twain in concert.

Zayn didn’t even know she was touring, or that she was still making music. Maybe she’s not – making music, that is, because she’s definitely touring if the orange tour shirt Zayn is currently wearing tells him anything. And it should, considering he had to spend eighty of his hard earned dollars to pay for his and Harry’s matching shirts.

Zayn feels slightly numb, dragging his feet as he and Harry move through the crowd. It’s mostly middle-aged women, none of them paying them any attention as they make their way towards the exit. Harry has his arm looped through Zayn’s, singing _Man!_ _I_ _Feel_ _Like_ _a_ _Woman_ under his breath.

Zayn’s going to have that song stuck in his head for the next seven months because of this, because Harry won’t stop singing it in his ear.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” Harry says, for probably the fifteenth time since the lights of the arena came back on. “That was an opportunity that you would have never had before, right? God, it was magical.”

“It was something,” Zayn agrees.

“Don’t you feel so…inspired?”

Zayn smiles, tightly, and nods. He has to remind himself that he’s doing this for work, he’s doing this so he can get the Vanderbilt account, he’s doing this for his future; it’s the mantra that he’s been repeating in his head since they arrived.

There isn’t that many days left and he can do this. He can totally do this.

+++

“I can’t believe you pulled a Liam and planned your future,” Nick laughs, doubling over.

“I’ve only that a few times,” Liam tries to defend, making Nick laugh harder.

Harry snorts and Liam’s words, but he knows that he can’t really judge him for it anymore when Harry is doing the same thing right now. He’s just as awful and has been doing everything that they’ve begged Liam to stop doing, and then made fun of him for continuing to do. But still, Liam’s denial is humorous; Harry can laugh about that.

“I can’t believe you’re still seeing this guy, though,” Nick says. “I mean, how has he not cracked?”

“I have no idea,” Harry groans. “There’s only a few more days left and I need to do something drastic before all of this back fires on me and he wants to marry me, or something.”

“Highly likely that’ll happen,” Nick snorts.

“It’s not funny,” Harry whines. “He’s so close to cracking. I can see it.”

“Well, what are you going to do today?” Liam asks.

“Nothing, really. I was going to go home and get caught up on my laundry. Maybe go for a run, I don’t know,” Harry admits.

“No,” Liam laughs. “What are you going to do with Zayn?” He looks like he’s genuinely curious to hear about how Harry is going to try and fuck this relationship up.

“Oh,” Harry mutters, shaking his head. “He’s having his friends over at his place. Some kind of boy’s night, or something, I don’t know. He didn’t really give me all the details, just said he was busy tonight and we’ll go out tomorrow.” Harry frowns when he sees the look on Nick’s face. “What?”

“Harry, you’re a boy,” Nick says.

Harry nods, slowly. “Yes, thank you.”

“No,” Nick sighs, shaking his head. “I’m saying it’s a boy’s night and you’re a boy, so why wouldn’t you be there?”

“I think it’s a night free of their significant others.”

“Who would want that, though?” Liam sighs, like it’s the worst thing that he’s ever heard. Harry makes a face at him, wishing that he could shake his best friend and get him to snap out of whatever is going on in his head.

“They always do this, he said,” Harry explains.

“They used to always do this,” Nick says.

“What?”

“Before Zayn met you, is when they would have boy’s night without the significant others.”

“Are you suggesting that I sabotage their night and take it over?”

Nick grins, leaning back in his seat like his work is done. Like now that he’s committed one evil deed he can rest easily. Liam’s smiling too, like he’s on board with the plan and Harry shrugs, because why not?

“So, what should I do?”

+

Through the door, Harry can hear Zayn and his friends inside. There’s laughter and the tell tale booms and banter that’s typically around people when they get together to play video games and whatever else is going on behind closed doors. He’s got two brown paper bags filled with things in his hands so he has to kick at the door to knock, hearing the confusion from inside as he waits.

Liam had suggested that Harry asked Zayn’s building manager to get him a copy of a key. Something that Harry knew went well over any of the lines that Harry has already crossed.

Zayn shouts from inside for him to come in, probably figuring that it’s one of his friends, so Harry wiggles the bags around until he can reach the door knob. With a deep breath, Harry turns the knob and pushes the door open with his foot.

“Sweetie, I’m home,” Harry calls, kicking the door closed and moving into the kitchen so he can set the bags down.

The noise in the other room dies down, as the game is paused and everyone stops talking. Harry feels bad laughing at that, so he wipes his smile away and steps back into the open area of the apartment. He feigns surprise, looking around at everyone before his eyes zero in on Zayn.

“What’s this?”

“Uh.” Zayn looks more confused than one, staring at Harry with his mouth open and his eyes wide. “I told you about—“

“Oh, you made other plans,” Harry says, motioning towards the television and the pizza boxes on the table. There are beer bottles scattered around, one held between Zayn’s thighs and others in people’s hands.

Harry recognizes Niall and Louis, the two that he met at Zayn’s work, but there’s another one that he’s never seen before who mostly look confused instead of concerned like Niall and Louis do.

“I told you—I thought I told you about this.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harry says, shaking his head. “No, but okay. It’s fine.”

“I did,” Zayn tells him. “I’m sorry if you forgot about it, but. I—Yeah, I have plans.”

Harry shrugs. “Okay. I bought stuff. Not much, since it was suppose to be just us before you invited everyone else, or before they showed up uninvited and unwanted, who knows, but let me go grab it,” he says, smiling and turning on his heel.

“What the fuck,” Louis mutters, once he’s gone. “What the fuck.”

Harry bites his lip, digging around in the bags of food and other items that he and Nick bought at the store. It’s a bunch of healthy foods, carrots and broccoli, spinach salad mix with strawberries and bottles of water. There’s a vegan pie that Harry knows tastes like muddy feet and lemon.

There’s a low murmur from the other room. Harry can’t make out everything that they’re saying, but he’s not naïve enough to think that they’re not talking about him. He has no plan for tonight, just interrupt and force health foods on them. He might try and put King Henry on the couch, near Niall and Louis since he can hear Louis’ continuous what the fuck’s.

Harry arranges the food, carefully trying to mimic the fancy designs that people fail at on the Internet. He’s definitely failing at it but it looks fancier than the pizza dumped in a greasy box of cardboard does.

Zayn and his friends stop whispering when Harry walks back into the room, a smile on his face and a platter of raw vegetables in his hand.

“Some yummy snacks. Here, get this crap out of the way,” he says, folding up the pizza boxes and pushing them onto the floor. He drops the platter down, twisting it slightly so it’s in an appealing angle and then takes a step back, his stupid smile still plastered onto his face like he’s a Stepford wife.

Zayn and his friends look from Harry to the food and then towards each other, like they’re genuinely worried about what he’s done.

“This looks good,” Zayn mutters, lips pulling up briefly into the barest of smiles as he grabs a piece of broccoli. “Yum.” He winces as he eats it, his cheeks puffing out as he chews, the crunch of the broccoli the only noise in the room.

“That’s a good boy,” Harry mutters, trying not to laugh at the look on Zayn’s face. It’s pathetic and adorable rolled into one, and he kind of wants to shout out that he’s only kidding and Zayn can eat his shitty pizza because Harry’s definitely going to take it into the kitchen and eat it himself anyway. “Don’t you guys want some?”

“Yeah, sure,” one of them says, shrugging.

Harry smiles. “I don’t know you. What’s your name?”

“Griff,” he says, covering his mouth as he talks. “We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves.”

“I’m Harry.”

“You’re Zayn’s—“

“His what? What is he saying about me?” Harry asks, noticing that Niall has taken to some of his snacks. His face is still red though, like it always is, and he kind of looks like he wants to cry or crawl out of his skin or laugh. Harry’s not sure. But Louis is glaring at him, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face like he knows exactly what Harry is doing.

“Nothing. Or well, I haven’t seen him in a while. Told me that he was seeing some guy, but. You’re him, I’m guessing,” Griff says, looking between Harry and Zayn.

“You guessed right,” Louis mutters, sourly.

Harry grits his teeth and turns, smiling, and says, “You’re so funny.” And then he turns to Griff and adds, “and it’s nice to meet you, Griff.”

“Yeah, man. Same here,” Griff says, tipping his beer in Harry’s direction and smiling at him.

The beer in Griff’s hand brings Harry back to why he’s here and the bags that he has in the kitchen. “I have more surprises for you guys,” he says, brightening back up. Niall makes a weird choking groan noise that sounds like he’s holding in a laugh. He rests his elbow on his knees, holds his head in his hands. Right. Harry’s not sure what’s going on with that but he’s not going to worry about it. Instead, he heads back into the kitchen.

Zayn’s trashcan is inside one of the cabinets, a small one that probably doesn’t fill up much with only one person in the house. Harry grabs it and the other paper bag, dragging them both back towards where the boys have started up another game. Louis is watching him, curious.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up,” Harry informs him, gathering up some of the beer bottles and tossing them into the trash. “You should really have recycling. It’s important to protect the Earth while we’re still on it. And it’s also important to look after our bodies while we’re on this Earth, so you shouldn’t be drinking these nasty things,” he explains, waving the beer bottle in his hand around until he tosses it in the trash.

“I paid for that,” Niall informs him.

Harry shrugs. “And I paid for these,” he says, pulling water bottles out of his bag and handing them out. “And I actually do recycle, so when you’re finished, toss them back into this bag and I’ll take them. Niall, give me your beer.”

“No.”

“Niall.”

“Harry, he’s almost finished. Just, maybe, let him finish it?”

“Zayn,” Harry breathes out, shaking his head. “Do you care about your friends? Do you want Niall to live a nice, healthy life?”

Zayn’s lips tighten as he nods, jerkily. “Yeah. You’re right. Niall, if you could—I would appreciate it if you lived a nice, healthy life, so please throw away your beer.”

“Are you fucking—“ Niall starts and then stops, nodding and tossing the beer into the bin. He smiles, mutters something under his breath and unpauses the game. There’s a big booming sound that makes Harry jump.

Once the trash and everything is back where it belongs, Harry wanders a bit. All of the things that he left at Zayn’s place are still exactly where they were, exactly where Harry placed them. Not a thing is out of place.

Zayn and his friends seem to have forgotten about him, their whispers tapering off when they resume the game. They eat his veggies and drink his water, like nothing is weird about it. They ignore him, and that’s fine, really. Harry feels like an ass for embarrassing himself, for crashing Zayn’s night, and for embarrassing Zayn. Though, Zayn looked more annoyed than he was embarrassed, which might be a good thing.

King Henry finds him, his paws quiet against Zayn’s floor. He lets out a tiny meow, rubbing against Harry’s legs.

“Oh, there he is,” Harry says, voice pitched high. He kneels down and scoops the cat up, pressing him against his chest and listening as the cat purrs. His long fur is wild, all over the place like he stuck his paw onto one of those static ball things that make people’s hair stand on end. “You are just the sweetest thing.”

Harry’s jealous that Zayn has this cat. He saw him and had wanted him so badly, but he had this feeling about him and knew that he had to bring him to Zayn. If only his own apartment allowed pets, then maybe he could keep the cat in the divorce. The metaphorical divorce, of course, because he and Zayn aren’t married and that’s definitely not in his master plan. But when Zayn and him end in a blaze of fire, Harry wishes he could keep the cat.

King Henry joins Harry in his wandering, purring against his chest. The boys are back to cursing at the game, still ignoring Harry like he’s not in the room with them. Harry stands behind the couch, using his hand not holding Henry to rub through Zayn’s hair. Zayn looks up briefly, smiling at him, before he zones back into the game. Harry goes to turn away when Zayn’s hand comes up, brushing just briefly against Harry’s. It makes Harry smiles, grinning into King Henry’s fur in a way that he knows has his cheeks pink.

It’s so… When did he get so lame?

But the moment is ruined. Of course it is, because how can Harry not break it when he notices that their love fern is dying? It’s wilted and the leaves look dry, browning slightly on the edges. It reminds him of why he’s here. He’s not here to feel any kind of way about Zayn, at least not like he does. He’s here for work, and the love fern is work.

“Oh, no,” Harry sighs, moving and letting King Henry down next to Louis just to be an asshole and watch Louis squirm when the cat swats at him and hisses.

“Fucking beast,” Louis shouts.

“Oh, no.”

“Harry?” Zayn says, pausing the game. “You all right?”

“Zayn,” Harry whines, lifting the fern off the shelf that Zayn has it resting on. “Zayn, you’re killing our love fern.” He stomps in front of the TV, holding the plant in one hand and resting the other on his hip, trying his best to look outraged and scandalized.

Zayn blinks, rubbing one of his hands on his jeans. “Uh,” he mumbles, wetting his lips.

“You’re killing our love fern. You’re killing it! Why are you doing this?”

“What the hell is a love fern?”

“Zayn,” Harry shrieks, voice raised higher than it should be.

“I’m not killing it,” he says, hands coming up in a gesture that’s probably meant to pacify Harry. “I think if we just needs more water than I’ve been giving it.”

“Yeah, I think most plants need more than zero droplets of water, Zayn. Come on,” Harry groans. “You’re killing it. You’re gonna kill this relationship, too, aren’t you? Is that how you feel? Is this how you feel about us?”

“No,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head. “No. Come on, no. I’m gonna water it now, actually.” He tosses down the controller and stands to make his point, reaching out for the plant in Harry’s hands.

Zayn takes the fern slowly, carefully, smiling at Harry when he finally gets it and moves into the kitchen. Harry stands and waits, tapping his foot on the floor and folding his arms over his chest. “And you didn’t even tell your friends about our love fern,” he says when Zayn walks back into the room, rubbing one of his wet hands on his jeans. “Does he not know we’re together or something?”

Zayn looks confused, looking between Harry and Niall. “I think he does. He should, given your visit to work.”

“He’s not very bright, then,” Harry decides, sighing.

“Hey,” Niall protests, and whatever he’s about to say is cut short when King Henry rushes onto his couch. He pushes back into the cushions, looking more like a caged animal than the actual animal does.

“Oh my god,” Harry sighs, grabbing the cat and setting it down on the floor. “You guys are all big babies. It’s a cat, an innocent cat.”

“Yeah, well, your innocent cat is a prick,” Louis says, smiling when Harry turns to glare at him.

It takes everything in Harry not to turn this into a playground brawl and shout at Louis how it takes one to know one. Instead he rolls his shoulders, taking a deep breath. “I have something for us to do,” he says.

“We already have—“ Griff tries but Harry shakes his head.

“No, this is—These games promote violence. It’s probably why I’ve been so,” Harry says and waves his hand around. “Anyway, those games aren’t healthy. I’m sure they’re fun, but are they wholesome? Hardly.”

“It’s kind of why we’re here, though,” Griff says.

“Can you all please just put your stuff down, Harry huffs, turning to look at Zayn to try and get his support on this. “I’m going to get the stuff, will you please get your friends to see reason?”

The game is off when Harry steps back into the room, paper bag clutched to his chest. He kneels down in front of the table, shoving the vegetable platter off to the side. “Zayn wanted to do this tonight,” Harry explains, carefully dumping the craft supplies he bought on the table. “I guess he was too shy to ask you guys if you wanted to participate, but I think I figured it out. Right, sweetie?”

“Absolutely right,” Zayn mutters, nodding.

“Zayn,” Louis says loudly, and even Harry startles at it. He sounds furious about something.

“Vanderbilt,” Niall shouts, smiling when everyone turns to look at him. “Vanderbilt.”

Louis breathes out and nods, grabbing a handful of popsicle sticks and plastering a fake smile on his face. He must have been the orneriest toddler to ever walk the Earth.

“Good job,” Harry cheers. “You should put your cigarette out as well, don’t you think? It’s so bad for you. For all of us, actually.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Louis mutters, but he puts the cigarette out.

This one isn’t Harry trying to be a pain in the ass. Harry hates the smell of smoke and the way it makes his stomach hurt. It’s so foul and the habit is disgusting. Harry knows that Zayn smokes, hasn’t witnessed it himself, but can sometimes smell or taste traces of it on Zayn. And while it’s not his apartment, Harry doesn’t think Zayn should do that in the house. It’ll seep into everything and ruin it all.

“I’ll go and get something to spray the air,” Harry says. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Like with most people Harry knows, Zayn keeps everything from soap to air freshener to trash bags to window cleaner under his kitchen sink. It’s easy to find, smelling like mountains, it claims. Harry still bangs around in the kitchen like he’s having difficulty finding it.

The other room is suspiciously quiet and when Harry steps back into the area, he can hear them talking about him.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Niall asks.

“He gets like this sometimes,” Zayn says. “It’s not all the time. You get through this and then he’s back to how he normally is. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“He’s a pain the ass, is what he is,” Louis chimes in.

“He wasn’t that bad,” Griff says. “I mean, he was, but he seems like he’s mostly out there, marching to the beat of his own drum, or whatever the saying is.”

“I don’t think they made that saying for Harry,” Zayn mumbles and Harry sees him rub his fingers down his face.

“I don’t even know what to say about him besides what the fuck,” Niall says. “You seriously deal with this shit?”

“Yeah, I do.” Zayn pulls his hands away from his face and shrugs. “Like I said, he’s not always like _that_. Sometimes the demon possessing him takes a break and—“

It’s Griff that spots Harry first, looking at him and elbowing Zayn in the side.

Zayn looks to him and then sees Harry standing there, can of air freshener in his hand. “Find it okay, babe?” Zayn asks, trying to smile.

“You think there’s something wrong with me?” Harry asks instead of answering.

“What? No, of course not.”

“Huh,” Harry mutters, nodding as he steps closer, spritzing the air around them to get rid of the nasty smell. “I think claiming I’m possessed by a demon says otherwise. If you hate me, then what am I doing here?”

“No one said anything about hating you,” Zayn says, standing up and stepping over the table and taking the air freshener from Harry. “And for someone so environmentally conscious, you sure are being generous in there.”

“Because your friend made it smell like shit in here.”

“Who cares? It’s my place.”

“I have asthma,” Harry shouts. “Although, maybe that’s just a side effect from the demonic possession.”

“Harry, I didn't—“

“If you say you didn’t mean it then I’m going to scream like a five-year-old.” Someone laughs and Harry doesn’t even have to look to know that’s Niall, but he does look to see Niall’s knees drawn up to his chest, his hands rubbing against his eyes. “Why are you laughing?” Harry sighs, watching as Niall continues to go on.

“It just got really tense in here,” Niall explains, like that’s a reason to crack up.

“You’re right,” Zayn says, taking Harry’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go talk in private.”

“No,” Harry says, jerking his wrist back. “I don’t want to talk to you in private. It wasn’t private when you insulted me to your friends.”

“It kind of was,” Louis mutters.

“Louis, shut up,” shouts Harry. “No, you know what? If you don’t want to deal with me, then I’m gone.” Harry stomps back towards the kitchen, grabbing his keys from off the counter. “And I’m taking our love fern, since you wouldn’t know how to love or nurture something if your life depended on it. You go ahead and play your violent video games and eat your shitty pizza.”

“Harry, stop being overdramatic,” Zayn sighs.

“I am gone,” Harry says, stopping in front of the door. “This is over. I am fed up with you.”

Harry slams the door when he leaves. He has to take a moment to lean against the wall and breathe. He’s not really mad but all the shouting has heart racing like he is. Zayn is allowed to insult him behind his back; it’s probably not the first time he’s done it. Harry deserves it and understands it, but the fight still has anger thrumming through his veins.

As Harry hits the button on the elevator, he frowns, because for some strange reason, he thought that Zayn would chase after him.

+++

Zayn releases the heaviest breath of his life as he drops down onto the couch. He stares at his ceiling, breathing in and counting to five, releasing and counting to five. His breathing is the only thing that he can hear; his apartment is silent, everyone being too afraid and too unsure on how they can break the silence.

Zayn jumps up and rushes out of his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. Harry’s standing in front of the elevator, glaring at him.

“What the fuck was that?” Zayn asks.

“Excuse me?”

“You show up to my apartment, you insult my friends, you ruin their nights and our plans, and you act like…”

“Watch how you finish that sentence,” Harry warns, his eyes narrowing as he adjusts the fern in his hands.

Zayn nods and breathes out harshly. “That wasn’t normal behavior, Harry. What you did in there, it’s not normal. What the hell is going on with you?”

“What the hell is going on with me? Are you serious? Did you seriously just come out here to insult me some more?” Harry asks.

“No, I didn’t, but I did come out here to get some answers.”

“Answers about what? How you insulted me in front of your friends? How you accused me of being possessed?”

“No, I mostly wanted answers as to why you showed up here tonight if all you wanted to do was make my friends feel like shit?” Zayn asks. He doesn’t know how any of them feel besides Louis’ complete hatred for Harry, Niall’s nervous hesitancy about him, and Griff’s outright confusion on who Harry is and why Zayn puts up with him. “You were awful to them.”

“And they were awful to me.”

“And that makes this okay?”

“I never said it was okay,” Harry shouts. “Don’t—Don’t act like I’ve ever implied that it’s okay.”

“Then why do it?” Zayn hollers, watching as Harry glares at him.

“This is why we’re done. I can’t be with someone who feels this way about me. This entire thing is toxic.”

Zayn stares at Harry as he steps into the open elevator, shrugging when Zayn looks at him. Zayn sticks his arm out, stopping the doors from closing.

“When we first met, you were fun and smart and sexy. You wanted to be taken seriously, and now—Now you’re… Harry, this isn’t you.”

“You don’t even know me, Zayn.”

“No, guess I don’t.”

“Well then this is it,” Harry says.

Zayn nods, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He looks at Harry for a moment before he steps away, letting his hand fall down to his side.

Zayn waits until the elevator doors shut before he heads back into his place. He breathes out, shrugging when he sees everyone standing in front of his door and staring at him.

“Come on, let’s play,” Zayn mutters, walking past them all and heading towards the couch. He drops down, hitting the button on the remote to start the TV and then grabbing his controller.

“That was probably for the best,” Griff tells him, sitting down next to Zayn.

“Yeah, it was,” Zayn laughs. “Ow, what the fuck was that for?” Zayn rubs at his shoulder, glaring at Niall. “Is one bruise not enough?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Niall shouts, grabbing Zayn and tugging him into the bedroom.

Louis is rushing after them, telling Griff to stay put. Zayn realizes then that this is about the stupid bet, and Zayn doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of that right now. He just wants to play his game and kill some zombies.

“You can’t break up with him,” Niall says, shoving Zayn down onto the bed.

“Niall, you were here. You literally saw what he’s like. And I’d say it was a good day because I didn’t get punched, but…”

“Yeah, and you deserved it. I don’t want the Vanderbilt account that badly. I’ll live without it.”

“You’ve worked your ass off at that company,” says Louis, “and you deserve something for putting up with _that_ , and with you letting him go, you’re not going to get anything but some good stories.”

“You hate him.”

“Yeah, because he’s a fucking dick to you. But you’ve got, like, days left with him and I can shove his popsicle sticks down his throat, but until then, you need to go chase after him.”

“As much as it pains him say to it,” Niall adds, smiling.

“I don’t even know what I could do to fix any of this.”

“Just say you’re sorry and you didn’t mean it. Blame the video games, like he did,” Niall suggests.

“Couple’s therapy,” Louis says, nodding when they both turn to look at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve suggested couple’s therapy when El gets sick of me? It works like a charm. And it’ll get you through the next couple days.”

Zayn looks at Louis and Niall, trying to figure out what he thinks. Couple’s therapy seems ridiculous for a relationship that hasn’t even been in existence for a week. It also seems like a waste of money for a bet, but then again, if Zayn gets the Vanderbilt account than he won’t need to worry entirely about money because he’ll get a pay raise with his promotion and money from the account.

“Come on, Zayn. You’re almost there,” Niall says. “You’ve made it this far, just commit to the rest of it and go after him.”

“Did you see what he was like?”

“I did. He’s fucking hot,” Niall says.

“No, it was awful,” Louis says, slapping Niall. “It was awful, you’re right, but your job is on the line, man.”

Zayn looks between them, and he knows that they’re right. He shouldn’t give up on this just because Harry tried to feed them carrots and make them do crafts. Well, it’s more than that, but still. Zayn needs to see this through; he has to.

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters, jumping up and rushing out of his apartment.

+

Harry’s still outside Zayn’s building by the time he makes it out there, his hands full because of the fern as he struggles to hail a cab. He looks confused when he sees Zayn, his hand held awkwardly out at his side as cars drive past.

“Did you come out here to yell at me again?” Harry asks, his eyes narrowing as he drops his hands.

“What? No,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head. “Harry, I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” Harry glares as Zayn moves closer to him, clutching the fern closer to his chest. “My comments about you were out of line, and I apologize if they hurt you in any way.”

“I see,” Harry mumbles, looking Zayn up and down. “Well, thank you for the apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Actually, I would really like to talk to you.”

“Zayn, it’s over. It’s done.”

“No, you have to take me back, okay? You have to.”

Harry shrugs. “Eh,” he mutters.

“Harry, please. Do you want me to beg you? Because I will; I’ll get down on my knees right now and beg you,” he says, kneeling on one knee like he’s about to propose and staring up at Harry, hoping his eyes are doing that puppy thing that animals do to get their way.

Harry looks horrified, his mouth dropping open. “Get up,” he says. “Seriously, get up. Zayn, oh my god.”

“Harry, please.”

“Zayn, get up. Seriously, oh my god,” Harry breathes. “Why would you think I want you to beg for anything?”

Zayn stands, wiping the crap from the city streets off of his knees. He feels like an idiot for begging but getting down on one knee is always seen as romantic and Harry’s not throwing himself into any taxis to get away, so it seems like it worked.

“I was talking to Louis just a moment ago, and he suggested that maybe we try couple’s therapy,” Zayn says, watching as Harry’s face changes. “He knows an amazing doctor that he says works really well. I think it’ll be great for us.”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m not trusting any doctor that Louis claims to know. He hates me. I know someone that can make miracles happen, and I think that’s what we’re going to need for you.”

A miracle, right; Zayn’s going to need a miracle to make it through the next few days alive. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” he says. “Anything you want.”

Harry sighs, looking torn between something as he squints beyond Zayn. He really seems to think about it for a moment and then he nods. “Fine. Kiss?”

Zayn smiles and closes the distance, kissing Harry’s cheek. “We good?”

“For now,” Harry tells him.

“Good,” Zayn mutters. He kisses Harry once more, tucking some of his hair behind his ears. “Thank you,” he says.

Harry rolls his eyes but he’s laughing, taking a step back. “Go back up there and see your friends. Do whatever you were doing before they insulted me for fun.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Zayn says. He will. Seriously, he’s going to talk to his friends. He’s not going to talk to them about how they treated Harry tonight, but he’s going to talk to them. “I’ll tell them off,” he lies.

Harry nods, waving his arm around for a cab. One of them stops for him and he sighs, muttering, “finally,” under his breath. Zayn opens the door for him, taking back the fern and pulling it away when Harry tries to take it back. If the damn fern—If the _love_ fern is so important to Harry, then Zayn’s going to keep it and he’s going to water it and so help him, this fucking plant is going to be the healthiest plant to ever plant.

Zayn stays there on the sidewalk, watching Harry’s cab drive off. He waves after them until the cab turns and Harry can no longer see him, if he’s even looking back at Zayn.

Four more days. Four more days. All Zayn has to do is get through four more days and he’s free.

+

“This looks like an apartment building.”

“So?” Harry sighs, tugging Zayn away from the edge of the street and closer to the stairs leading up to the building. “People run businesses out of their homes all the time. Especially therapy, I bet, as it helps relax the clients.”

The building is definitely a five-floor walk-up with red brick and black trim around the windows. It’s a nice building; it’s located in a decent area that Zayn knows looks to cost a fortune but is still relatively cheap. They had to take the El to get there, because Harry didn’t want to get dirt and wrinkles in their clothes. Thirty minutes on a city train that smelled like urine just to go to couple’s therapy.

“Besides,” Harry continues, walking up the stairs and hitting the buzzer, “would you rather go someplace sterile and ugly, like the place Louis was going to suggest? It’ll make us feel like we’re actually in therapy, and then what? We’re going to close up and not be as open as we would here, like we’re meeting a friend.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Zayn mumbles, listening to the door unlock without anyone asking who it is. There’s no kind of advertisement that says they’re actually seeing a certified therapist or that one lives within the building.

Harry claims he found this guy online. He came with amazing reviews and recommendations from a few of his friends. He told an elaborate story about one of his friends being in a marriage where they were sleeping in separate bedrooms for months and this therapist save what the couple thought was broken forever.

“Now remember to relax, okay?”

“I am relaxed.”

Harry nods, stopping in front of a door on the third floor. He adjusts Zayn’s shirt, brushing lint off it and smoothing it out. “You really need to open up when we’re in there. Dig deep, so we can find the root of your problems,” Harry says, brushing some of Zayn’s hair back and then knocking on the door.

Zayn nods and takes a deep breath, counting backwards from ten before he releases it, feeling his chest deflate slowly.

There’s a tall skinny guy behind the door when it swings open, thick glasses on his face and messy hair brushed back. He smiles at them, ushers them inside. The apartment is small but neat, white walls outlining wooden floors and modern furniture, a white couch and glass table with a television that’s bigger than Zayn’s ever seen outside of an electronics store. The decorations are minimal, making it a little bit bland and boring.

Harry looks surprised before he grins, introducing both of them and guiding Zayn towards the couch.

The therapist looks familiar, like someone Zayn has seen before. The city is big, so it’s possible, but Zayn doesn’t usually venture this far north unless he absolutely has to or he’s craving Korean barbeque from a place west of here. But Zayn can’t shake the feeling that he’s seen this guy as more than just someone he’s maybe passed on the street a few times.

“So, let’s start off slow today,” The therapist says. He’s insisted that they call him Nick, or Dr. Nick if that makes them feel better. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Barely a week,” Zayn answers and Nick nods, clicking his pen and writing it down.

“Why do you have to say it like that?” Harry laughs, shaking his head at Zayn. “It’s not like years, or anything, but it’s still a significant amount of time. Barely. God, no wonder we’re in therapy.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Zayn says.

“Well, since Harry has briefly touched on that, why don't we talk about what brings you two here today? What are some of your concerns? What would you like to work on?” Nick asks, adjusting his glasses and smiling encouragingly at them.

“Oh, wow,” Harry mutters, laughing again. “How do we get started on that one?”

“It’s okay to not have anything definitive. If you’d just like to improve your relationship, find a party that is here to help open up a safe space for communication, then that’s fine,” Nick explains. “I’m here for you both of you. I’m not going to take sides.”

“That’s good to know,” Zayn says. “And I think communication might be a problem of ours.”

“How is that a problem? We talk everyday?”

“Well, just last night there was the misunderstanding about if we had plans or if I made plans with my friends.”

Harry scoffs, face twisting as he tries to formulate words. “He invited his friends over, had already made plans with me, and then decides that I’m being invasive, after his friends spend the entire night being rude to me. The entire night,” Harry says, nodding his head when Nick writes that down. “They accused me of demonic possession. He agreed with them.”

“Oh,” Nick mutters, shaking his head as he jots that down.

“No, that’s not—I made plans with my friends, told Harry that I would busy last night and we could get together another night, and he shows up unannounced and angry, because he didn’t seem to understand what I meant,” Zayn says, frowning when he sees that Nick isn’t writing his side down. “There was a communication error there, so yes, I think we need to work on our communication. Why aren’t you writing this down?”

“Zayn,” Harry laughs, resting his hand on Zayn’s knees. “There’s no need to get angry.”

“I’m not getting angry, but I am expressing a legitimate concern of mine, and—“ Zayn breathes out, shaking his head. It’s not a big deal. It’s not a real therapy session and he doesn’t care what some almost middle-aged dude thinks of him. “Sorry, I just—Our communication is important to me.”

“Right,” Nick mutters, folding his hands in his lap. “What are some other concerns of yours?”

“Well, there’s Zayn’s flirting.”

“My what?”

“Your flirting. He’s always hitting on people everywhere that we go. The other night we were out at dinner, and the waiter was practically sitting in his lap. If I hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what would have happened between them,” Harry says, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. “He probably would have left me.”

“Are you kidding me? I was not flirting with him. I wasn’t.”

“Zayn,” Nick says, cutting him off. “Why don’t we let Harry have the floor? He can air out his feelings, get them all out on the table, and then you can have your turn to speak. How about that?”

Zayn nods, scratching his nose. “Yeah, fine.”

“All right. Now Harry, why don’t you continue.”

Harry breathes out and nods. “Yeah. So, besides his flirting and him making plans on top of our plans, I feel like our biggest problem is that I don’t feel appreciated. And I do think that our communication could use some work, because I feel like I’m always the one reaching out and making all of the plans when we get together. Sometimes he’s with me, but it feels like he’d rather be anywhere else.”

Nick’s finger moves across the paper quickly as he writes, trying to get down everything that Harry’s saying. He nods as he listens, making faces that are supposed to look sympathetic or something, like he really feels for Harry’s struggles and his issues.

Harry talks for a while, seemingly pulling complaints out of thin air as he continues to tell Nick how he feels about the things that Zayn has done. It takes effort not to roll his eyes and ask if Harry is serious, because why would their therapist give a shit about their stupid fern?

“Thank you for opening up, Harry. Zayn, why don’t we get started on you? What have you been feeling lately?”

Zayn looks from Nick to Harry, sees that he’s smiling at him and waiting. Zayn wets his lips, breathes out, and starts talking. “I think that there is some respect issues. I feel like Harry gets really impatient with me, like when I don’t answer the phone. I took a shower the other day, and got seven voicemails.”

“I was worried,” Harry says. “He drives this small motorcycle and in rush hour traffic and the way city buses drive, you can’t be certain that he’ll make it home.”

“He accuses me of things that I haven’t done, like flirting with a waiter? It never happened. And he shows up to my work without calling me, insults my friends while he’s there, and then does the same thing when my friends are over. He hardly knows them but he’s incredibly rude to them, and it puts me in an awkward position,” Zayn explains, avoiding Harry’s gaze and focusing entirely on Nick.

“I see,” Nick mutters, clicking the end of his pen. “So, essentially, you’re embarrassed by Harry.”

“No.”

“Oh, okay. So, you’re ashamed of him. You’re ashamed that you’re in a relationship with him.”

“Wow,” Harry whispers, nodding like he’s just discovered something.

“Do not write that down,” Zayn says, waving at Nick like he can shove the notepad off his lap by sheer force of will. “I am not embarrassed and I’m not ashamed.”

“He’s never defended me against his friends. The one, Louis, is so awful to me. He’s rude and he has an attitude problem.”

Nick nods, writing quickly.

“You called them simple minded.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “When did I ever?”

“When you brought King Henry to my work.”

“Oh, okay, so let’s talk about the things that you’ve done since you love to paint me as the villain,” Harry says, tugging at the hem of his shirt and scooting forward, like he might need to jump up at any moment. “Zayn denied our children. He doesn’t even want them. You should have seen the look on his face, like starting a family with me would be the worst thing in the world.”

“I was shocked,” Zayn cries. “He made a photo album that morphed our faces together to make our kids. He didn’t tell me that he was going to do. That’s not something people normally do, so I was surprised. You sprung that on me,” he says, turning to look at Harry instead of at Nick, who is still writing everything down.

“That’s how surprises work.”

“Yes, it is, but you still could have spoken to me about it. Like how you called me mom.”

“I just wanted to talk to her. I wanted to meet her and get to know her,” Harry says, pouting like he’s a fucking professional, like he might cry like he did during that movie.

“That’s fine,” Zayn tells him. “If you want to meet my mom, I don’t care, but talk to me about that.”

“Maybe you should,” Nick cuts in. Zayn and Harry both turn to look at him, identical looks of confusion on their faces. “Maybe you should make a trip to go and meet Zayn’s family.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you even sure that’s a good idea?” Harry asks.

“I’ve mentioned it once before. Harry didn’t think it was a good idea,” Zayn says, finally feeling like he has the upper hand.

“I mean, it’s so soon. It’s barely been a week.”

“I think it’s a perfect idea,” Nick states. “And I think it would be wise for both of you to take this seriously. And Zayn, if you’re not ashamed of him, why wouldn’t you want to take him to your meet your family?”

Zayn doesn’t have an answer for that. He could say that his boss made a bet with him and he’s actually only in this for a promotion. He could explain that his mother will look disappointed when she finds out that Zayn’s been seeing someone and hasn’t told her about it. And then there are his sisters, his nieces and nephews, his aunts and uncles, along with his cousins, because naturally everyone in his family is going to come over to meet Harry. It’s just how they work.

“We can do it tomorrow,” Zayn finds himself saying because what else is he supposed to do? “I’ll have to call my mom to give her a time to be ready for us, but, yeah, tomorrow.”

“I—okay,” Harry mutters.

“Go tonight,” Nick encourages. “I think it would be best.”

“Tonight,” Zayn repeats, breathing out and trying to keep himself from freaking out.

+++

Harry makes Zayn rent a car instead of taking his motorcycle. There’s not enough room for their bags and he knows that every inch of his body is going to vibrate the entire ride until his thighs turn to jelly and Zayn has to drag him by his ankles to meet his parents.

Harry’s ass is still kind of numb from sitting in the car for so long and there’s a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach about all of this. He’s nervous, obviously, and he spent the majority of his time packing threatening Nick with everything that he had. Nick had merely laughed and said that if Harry’s lucky his family will tell Zayn to break it off and then this whole thing would be over within the ten days.

Zayn’s family’s house is modest. It sits on a big lot, surrounded by grass and trees with a long driveway that broadens out closer to the house, making room for plenty of cars. The exterior is white with black shutters. The garden is nice and colorful, lining the walkway and stretching out across the front of the house. It’s not what Harry imagined from the way that Zayn talked about it on the car ride up here. Harry expected something smaller, quainter, but this is nice.

Harry’s stomach twists as he steps out of the car. He’s never been nervous for anything, he doesn’t think, but he’s nervous about this. He can hear children squealing in the back, along with loads of voices, and it only makes his stomach clench again.

“You ready?” Zayn asks, pulling Harry’s thoughts away from his nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Should we get our bags?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, it’ll be okay. I’ll get them later.”

Harry nods and lets Zayn guide him towards the house, his hand on the small of Harry’s back.

The door is unlocked when Zayn opens it, and a hoard of kids rush passed them, shouting and laughing.

“Zayn’s home,” one of them shrieks to a level that only a small child can reach. The group of them rush back, all of them crowding around Zayn, wrapping themselves around him until he pulls away from Harry, stumbling back into the door and laughing, greeting them back.

Harry steps to the side, separating himself, and watching. He can’t help but laugh, watching as children fight for Zayn’s attention before someone in the other room shouts something and they all take off running again, tiny screams following them.

“Those are my cousins,” Zayn explains, running his fingers through his hair. “And this is my sister Doniya.”

Harry turns to see a girl with a baby on her hip, smiling at him. He can sort of see the resemblance. She’s not a perfect image of Zayn, and though Harry wouldn’t assume they were siblings unless he was told so, he can see it in how beautiful she is.

Zayn steps forward to kiss her cheek in greeting before taking the baby from her, tossing him in the air and making the baby laugh before he peppers his face in greeting. “And this little guy is Tahir.”

“Mom is going to be thrilled you’re here, Harry. She’s been talking about nonstop since you called.”

“Oh, well, I hope that I can live up to her expectations.”

“There’s not expectations, don’t worry,” she assures him, laughing. She seems shy, laugh dying into a smile as her fingers twist in front of her, like she’s not sure what to do now that she doesn’t have her baby.

“He needs a change,” she says, breaking the silence.

Zayn blows a raspberry against the baby’s cheek, turning his back to Doniya so she can’t take the baby away from him.

“Mom,” someone screams from the next room. “Mom!”

Doniya sighs. “That’d be me,” she says, smiling at Harry once more before she turns to leave, heading in the direction of the screamer and leaving Harry and Zayn with her baby.

“Who are you?” Someone asks, slamming into Harry, hugging his leg and staring up at him. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Oh, I’m Harry.”

“Are you Zayn’s boyfriend?”

Harry twists around to see the group of kids from earlier staring at him, looking at him like they’re ready to run his background check themselves.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry says, biting his lip and looking at Zayn.

“All right, back off,” Zayn says, waving his free hand at the kids. He helps pry the one off Harry’s leg, gently pushing her in the direction of the others. “Leave him alone for now, he’s nervous.”

The kids laugh as they rush off, whispering something that Harry doesn’t hear and laughing about it. He breathes out, unsure how he should feel about some little kids definitely making fun of him or whatever has them laughing.

“I think my mom told my entire family that you were coming,” Zayn laughs. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Zayn nods, twisting the baby around and sniffing. “Yeah, I’m gonna go change this guy. You can head into the other room. Everyone’s in there waiting for you,” he says. “I’m sure my mom’s dying to meet you.”

“You’re not going to come?” Harry says, not even caring that he probably sounds like he’s whining.

“I’ll be there in a second,” Zayn promises. “You’ll be okay.”

Harry watches Zayn disappear down a hallway, talking in a high-pitched voice to Tahir. It’s even more uncomfortable and nerve-wracking to be here when Zayn’s not by his side. And Harry is definitely going to kill Nick for suggesting that he be here right now, because Harry’s stomach is somewhere in his ass, and his heart is beating so fast that it feels like something is going to burst out of his chest, whether it’s his heart or every ounce of courage he’s ever once had, he’s not sure.

Harry takes his time following the noise into the other room. He spots pictures on the walls and lined up neatly on shelves, stopping to look at each of the ones of Zayn. He’s so little and cute. Harry laughs as he looks at them because it’s obvious what a silly kid Zayn was and what a great childhood he had in this house with his family. Some of the pictures are ones that Zayn’s mom sent him and it’s just…a lot.

“Harry!”

Harry turns around to see a woman who looks enough like Zayn that he knows it’s his mother. He can see every feature that Zayn’s gotten from her, even if, according to the pictures on the walls, he’s so much more like his father. Her hair is coppery red and she has a nose ring. She’s grinning so widely, like she’s truly happy to see Harry standing in her house, like he’s someone that she’s met before in person and developed a bond with. It makes Harry’s throat feel tight.

Trisha rushes forward, pulling Harry into her embrace and rocking him a bit as she hugs him. She pulls away, cupping her hands on his cheeks and smiling at him. “Oh, look at you,” she says, like she can’t believe it. She drops her hands but catches his wrist, already tugging him back where she came from. “We’re making food. I expect you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, I am. Zayn refused to stop on the way.”

She laughs and guides Harry around a corner and into the kitchen where a ton of people are. Some of them are out on the back patio, sitting in white chairs and laughing.

“Everyone, this is Harry,” Trisha announces before she guides him slowly around the room. She takes her time introducing him to everyone, letting him know how they’re related to Zayn. He meets a bunch of his cousins, one of his uncles, and a handful of aunts. Zayn’s grandmother is sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a colorful and beautiful dress, her lips bright red.

There’s so many people that Harry’s not sure he’s ever going to remember all of their names. He knows his mother’s and his father’s, a quiet man that shook Harry’s hand but didn’t have much else to say besides that he was happy they made it out here. He’s easy enough to remember, looking like an older version of Zayn with bulkier arms. Seriously, why doesn’t Zayn have those in addition to the smile and thick dark hair?

Harry remembers all of Zayn’s sister’s names, not just Doniya, but Safaa and Waliyha, the latter looking so much like Zayn that Harry has to blink to make sure he’s not seeing her wrong.

There are a few others that he remembers but most he knows he’s only going to learn through constantly hearing it and branding their faces to his memory so he doesn't get anyone confused.

So many of them hug him when they meet him, kissing his cheek and fixing his hair. They all feel so warm that it helps him relax. And none of them look like they’ve heard horror stories about him; they all seem genuinely happy that he’s joining them.

Zayn’s mom never leaves his side, keeping close to him until everyone else is finished with him and she drags him to the stove.

“I decided to make some of Zayn’s favorites,” Trisha explains. “I’ve got masala lamb chops, chicken tikkas, pasta salad, chicken and spinach, and we’ve got samosas down there. We need to get started on some rice and vegetables I think. Got some cakes in the fridge.”

“Wow, you’ve made a lot.”

“Oh, this is just for Zayn, dear. We’ve got loads more over there, not to worry,” she says, eyes shining as she smiles.

“Are you putting him to work?” Zayn asks, stepping around Harry and startling him. He drags his hand along Harry’s back, resting it there as he leans forward to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“Hi my sunshine,” she greets, smiling at him before she’s spinning around and grabbing utensils and food, shifting them from one place to another, moving containers around.

Zayn stands next to Harry, reaching into containers and taking bites to eat. “How’s Harry doing in the kitchen? Does he make the cut?”

“I’m fine,” Harry defends, elbowing Zayn lightly, making Zayn laugh. “And you should wait to eat. Isn’t that what you said in the car.”

“Zayn, what are you thinking not feeding the boy? Poor thing shows up skinny and starved. Here, have a bite, love,” she says, dipping a wooden spoon into one of the dishes and holding it out towards Harry.

Harry opens his mouth and eats it. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s spicy, making his ears tingle with the force of it. It’s delicious though, but it clears his sinuses and burns its way down his throat.

“How’d you like it?”

“It’s really good.”

“Now try this one,” she says, sticking the spoon into another dish.

She continues giving him more food to try until Harry’s body is burning from his mouth to his chest. He thinks he might actually be sweating, or maybe his eyes are watering, something equally embarrassing because even ears are burning, like his body is trying to push out the fire of the food through wherever it can. It’s all good though, is the thing. Every bite she gives him is even better than the one before it, but he’s not used to spicy foods.

“Let me get you some milk,” Zayn says, laughing openly as he shuffles towards the fridge. There are actually tears in Zayn’s eyes as he snorts through his laughter, resting his head on the fridge for a moment to get himself together.

“I’m fine,” Harry assures him, coughing when the words come out of him like flames would for a dragon, burning their way out of his mouth. “It’s really delicious, all of it.”

Zayn shakes his head at him, handing over the glass. “Drink it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Just drink it,” Zayn says, giving Harry a look before he turns towards the little girl tugging at his shirt. He nods and then walks away, following her from wherever she came from, leaving Harry alone with Zayn’s mom.

Harry drinks the milk once Zayn’s out of sight, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Harry’s going to listen to him. He coughs after the first sip, wiping milk off his chin with the back of his hand. It does little to dampen the flames in Harry’s stomach but it feels nice on his tongue and going down his throat.

Trisha smiles at him, cupping his cheeks when he sets the empty glass down on the counter. “You really are something,” she says. Harry laughs at her words, unsure what to say or do about them. “No, I’m serious. I can tell.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, patting his cheek once before turning back to the food.

“You have this feeling with all of Zayn’s past relationships?” Harry asks, and he’s not even sure what makes him ask that. Curiosity, maybe, but for what he’s not sure. It shouldn’t and doesn’t matter to him if Zayn’s mom likes to assure Zayn’s boyfriends that they’re all great in her eyes. Harry hardly knows her or her son, and they barely know him, so it’s really nothing. But the thing of it is, there’s something behind her eyes when she says it, like she really does mean it, despite having just met him.

“No,” Trisha answers. “Zayn did, but I never did.”

“Oh,” Harry mutters, swallowing, wishing he was still being feed food or drinking his milk so he could have something to do, something to pull away from the conversation.

“Yeah. All of them came with full stomachs,” Trisha jokes, winking at Harry as he laughs.

+

Harry’s exhausted by the time they make it upstairs to Zayn’s room for the night. His eyes feel heavy, his stomach full of delicious food, and the fire inside of him almost gone. He stands in the corner and watches, blinking slowly, as Trisha tugs clean sheets onto the bed.

“I can take the couch,” Harry says again, like a broken record.

“Why would you do that?” Trisha asks, like her own broken record.

“I just—“

“No,” she says, dusting off the bed once she’s finished. “You can sleep up here.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, too tired to argue with her.

“It’ll be fine,” Zayn assures him, squeezing Harry’s hand before going to help his mom toss a comforter down on the bed.

Zayn tugs the pillows from his mom’s hands, letting her know that she’s done enough for the night and they can do this. She smiles at him, kissing him on the cheek and telling him good night before she heads over towards Harry.

“We’re so happy that you’re here,” she says, standing on her toes to give him a hug. “If you need anything during the night, Zayn will get it for you. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything. Bathroom is across the hall, help yourself to the fridge, anything that you want, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you,” Harry tells her, hugging her tightly for a second.

There’s something about her that reminds Harry of his own mother. Harry hasn’t been to see her in ages, mostly talking on the phone or through FaceTime but not much in person anymore. Harry misses her, especially now that he’s here with Zayn, surrounded by feelings of love and family. Zayn’s mom has treated him so well all night, making sure that he’s felt welcome and included, more so than anyone else would ever do. She just—Trisha has such a motherly air around her that she makes Harry feel safe and warm, content in a way that only mothers can.

Harry stands in the corner silently, watching as Zayn shuts the door behind her.

“Do you really want to sleep separately?” Zayn asks. “I can run and grab some blankets, toss them down on the floor, and I can sleep there. It’s not a big deal to me.”

Harry shakes his head. “I just didn’t—I mean, it’s her house.”

“She likes you,” Zayn says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“We can share. I don’t really mind.”

Zayn nods and gets up, the pair already in their in pajamas, having gotten dressed while Zayn’s mom gathered their blankets for them. Zayn tugs his shirt off before flicking the light off. Harry does the same, folding it and setting it down on the side table so he can grab it first thing in the morning. He crawls in first, taking the side of the bed that’s shoved up against the wall.

They lie together in silence, listening to the soft creaks of the house and the bugs outside. There’s a bird making a lot of noise for this time of night and Harry listens to him sing, thinking about everything that’s happened today.

After dinner everyone sat down and talked, spread out throughout the house. The younger kids continued to mess around, except this time outside, and Harry spent more time talking to Zayn’s sisters and learning about them. Doniya, just barely older than Zayn with a couple kids, married and doing makeup for special events when she has the time; Waliyha, going to school for fashion and looking for her own place; and Safaa, still young enough that she’s living at home and still planning out her future, unsure about so much but excited for everything else.

Harry really loves everyone that he’s met tonight.

“Your family is really great, you know?”

“Yeah, I think my sister has a crush on you,” Zayn replies, lying on his stomach with his eyes closed, face turned towards Harry.

Harry snorts. “I think I have a crush on your dad.” Zayn kicks him under the blanket, causing Harry to laugh. “You two look so much alike; I can’t believe it.”

“So it’s me that you’ve got the crush on, then.”

This time Harry kicks Zayn, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself today, Harry,” Zayn says.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry breathes out.

“Tomorrow we’ll go out.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes and hopes that tomorrow goes as well as this day ended.

+++

Zayn takes Harry to the lake about an hour from his parent’s house. It’s not hot enough to swim, but after a morning of Zayn’s mom and sisters sharing stories with Harry, Zayn thinks spending the afternoon lounging on the sand and soaking up the sun is just what they needed. Zayn’s mom forced them to take large quantities of food that they eat at a picnic table so they won’t get sand in their food.

It’s a nice day, relaxing in a way that most of his days with Harry haven’t been in a while.

There’s a long stretch of road before the parking lot that leads to the lake, and as the day winds down and people start to head home for the day, Zayn manages to get Harry on his motorcycle, one of his old ones that he and his dad fixed up when he was younger. It takes a bit of convincing, along with a giant helmet that smushes Harry’s cheeks like a fish. It shouldn’t be as cute as it is. It really shouldn’t but it is.

“I can’t do it,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I can’t do it.”

“You can. Just give it a try,” Zayn encourages. “We’ve already walked through everything. You know what you’re doing. It’ll be a little rocky at first, but I know you can do it.”

“What if I just completely fall over and roll into the lake? How are you going to feel about that? Harry asks.

Zayn laughs, knocking Harry’s helmet. “You’re not going to roll into the lake. Ignoring the fact you’d have to roll down some pavement, down the grass, all the way across the beach, and into the water, I’d say it’s safe to assume you’re right,” he explains, swinging onto the back of the bike and wrapping his arms around Harry. “And now I’m here with you, so don’t be scared.”

It takes a couple seconds of Harry breathing before he can start the bike. He does everything that Zayn taught him, step by step to get the bike going. There’s a bit of a balance issue at first, so Zayn guides him through it, letting him know how to move his body and how to get the bike to do what he wants.

Eventually, Harry figures it out, and the longer he drives the better at it he gets. Zayn takes him on some of the roads that he knows are pretty empty this time of day, back roads surrounded by trees in every direction, even over head as they grow together.

“Pull over up here,” Zayn instructs, shouting over the wind. “Into that little lot there.”

Harry nods and follows his instructions, turning into a parking lot of another park. He rides it into a parking spot, cutting off the engine. Zayn hops off and helps Harry out of his helmet, laughing at his red face and sweaty hair.

“You’re cute,” Zayn says, setting the helmet down on the seat.

Harry stumbles as he gets off, laughing and throwing his arms around Zayn dramatically. “That was kind of fun.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know you took a couple turns too fast, and that I could hear you laughing.”

Harry grins, ruffling Zayn’s hair and letting go of him. “It was fun,” he repeats. “Why’d we stop?”

“We’re getting ice cream,” Zayn tells him, grabbing Harry’s hand. “There’s a little stand up here. An older man owns it. It’s attached to the end of his bike. He’s always at this park. Everyone knows him, always buys from him in the summer.”

“That’s nice, actually,” Harry sighs, leaning his head against Zayn’s shoulder and walking with him.

Zayn gets a creamsicle and Harry gets a bomb pop, the large, obnoxiously colorful one that’s going to melt down Harry’s hand before he finished it. They sit on a bench to eat them, watching the park’s final visitors make their way around.

“You got a boring one,” Harry says, nodding towards Zayn’s popsicle. “You should have gotten one of the character ones with the gum eyes. You seem like you’d eat a Pikachu popsicle.”

“I would, but the gum eyes are kind of a pain when you don’t want to be chewing gum while you’re eating.”

“Boo,” Harry teases, laughing. “Hold them in your hand.”

Zayn makes a face and shakes his head, licking his ice cream. Harry’s one of those freaks that bites into his, making Zayn’s body shiver with every bite, his front teeth freezing just from watching it.

“It’s weird, but eating ice cream always makes me think about being in Rome and eating gelato in front of the Pantheon. I went years ago, with my family, but I always think about it.”

“It was probably a nice trip, I’d imagine.”

“Yeah, it was. Have you ever been?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, my family has never really been able to afford that kind of thing. We’ve gone to places nearby, different lakes, and stuff. Once we drove to the ocean, but. We’ve never been anywhere like Rome, though.”

“Oh, you’d love it. It’s really great.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get to go someday.”

“You will,” Harry says, smiling. “Even if I have to drag you there, you’re going.”

Zayn smirks at that, licking his ice cream once more. “Where else have you been?”

“Oh, we’ve been to loads of places. Prague, Vienna, Florence, Dublin, Paris,” Harry lists. “I know I’m really lucky, to have grown up and been able to do all these things and see all these places, and I’m grateful for them, but sometimes I wish I could say that I’ve gone now instead, like, as an adult.”

“You’d have appreciated it more.”

“Yeah, and going to museums and just looking at everything would have actually been something I wanted to do.”

Zayn nods. He doesn’t really get it. There hasn’t been much time to travel since he’s been an adult, and there was never any money to do it as a kid, at least not far off travels like that, where money came in handy. But Zayn understands on a basic level, the way only people often sympathize with other people’s situations without ever having been through them themselves.

“I once had lavender flavored ice cream,” Harry says and Zayn makes a face, curling his lip in distaste. Harry laughs. “It tasted just as badly as it smelled. You could taste that it was a plant, but it oddly had a kick to it, not spicy but this punch of flavor that was really gross.”

“Why would you ever eat that?”

“Because I thought I was cool,” Harry says, biting into his popsicle. “You’re going to have those juices down to your elbow if you don’t just take a bite out of that thing.”

Zayn shakes his head, licking the liquid off his hand and trying to catch them on the popsicle before it melts down his hand. It’s melting faster than he can eat it, his own still moderately thick while Harry’s nearly finished, proving Zayn wrong in that it was the wrong choice for him.

Harry laughs as Zayn struggles with his popsicle, his head thrown back. There’s trails of it on his chin, dripping onto his shirt and Harry snorts when Zayn wipes his hand on his face, trying to get it off but only putting more on it instead.

“Here, let me help,” Harry says, leaning forward and kissing Zayn’s lips, then kissing his chin and getting some of the stickiness on his own face.

Zayn stares at Harry, melting popsicle forgotten for a moment, because he’s sort of amazed, because this Harry is a great Harry. He’s fun and Zayn is actually enjoying spending time with him, much like he has since they left therapy together.

Zayn hasn’t worried about what Harry is going to do to him, if he’s going to pull something that’ll leave Zayn feeling flustered and frustrated. He almost wants to ask what was going on before, why Harry was doing the things that he was, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

Zayn could get used to it, get used to Harry in this way.

“Come on, we should probably head back to your parent’s house,” Harry says, taking away Zayn’s popsicle. “You’re a mess. Next time we bring you a bib.”

“I’m not sure if my family is going to be there. My mom mentioned that they might go to aunt’s for a while.”

“That’s okay. It’ll give us time to clean up, I’m sweating.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Zayn teases, flicking at some of Harry’s hair.

+

There’s no one home when they get back. All of the cars are gone. There’s a note on the kitchen counter from his mom saying that Safaa and Waliyha are gone for the night, but she and dad will be home later. She left food in the fridge for them to eat, if they haven’t and they get hungry, and then says that they’re welcome to join them. Zayn’s not sure if Harry will want to go, or if he’s tired of playing twenty questions with Zayn’s family.

“I’ll have to start the shower for you,” Zayn says, leading Harry up the stairs.

Harry’s been oddly quiet on the ride back, not like he could say much on the back of a motorcycle, but he hasn’t said anything since they’ve walked in the door. He’s nod his head and smiled, his lips pressed together, and his arms wrapped around himself.

Zayn gathers a towel and a washcloth, carrying them into the bathroom and dropping them on the sink.

“When we were teenagers, Doniya somehow broke the shower. We’ve tried to fix it, but it still fucks up, so you kind of have to know what you’re doing to get it started.”

He turns, his smile dropping when he sees Harry leaning against the sink and staring at the ground.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Harry breathes out and shakes his head, releasing a laugh that sounds a little wet but he’s not crying, maybe on the verge of it but not actually doing it yet. Zayn wonders if he wishes that he were or if Harry is going to wait until he’s in the shower.

“Harry,” says Zayn, gently touching Harry’s arm. “Talk to me.”

“You’re family is really great,” Harry breathes, sniffing. “This house is great. It almost feels like home, except it’s not my home at all. It feels like it, because your mom, your mom is so great. She’s so great to everyone, even to me, like she packed us lunch and kissed me on the cheek when we left, and she wrote us a note saying that she’d love for us to come see her. She’s so great, Zayn.”

“Yeah, she is,” Zayn mumbles, thumb rubbing Harry’s forearm.

“Your whole family is. They’re so nice to me and they don’t even know me. They don’t even know anything about me or what I’ve done, but they’re amazing.”

Zayn smiles, bringing his free hand up to tilt Harry’s chin upwards so he’s looking at him. “Is that why you’re upset?”

Harry huffs and shrugs, letting Zayn’s fingers brush his cheek. “It’s just nice,” he says and Zayn doesn’t call him out on the fact that there has to be more to it than just that. “I haven’t done anything to earn them being nice to me.”

“You don’t have to earn being treated decently.”

“Maybe I should,” Harry mutters, breathing out and leaning forward, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “I’m awful.”

“Hey, no. That’s not true.”

“God, it is. That’s why your friends hate me. Niall’s terrified of me and Louis wants my head on a platter, probably shove the apple in it himself, and Griff is going to be somewhere in the middle of all that because I’m a fucking nightmare.”

“Yeah, but they’re simple minded,” Zayn teases, rubbing Harry’s back. “And you’re not awful. You’re eccentric.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. He kisses Zayn’s neck before he pulls away, rubbing his eyes and then stepping forward to grab the washcloth behind him. Zayn steps out of his way, watching as Harry pulls the curtain back and sets it on the edge of the tub.

“There’s shampoo and soap in there, all stuff that smells like fruit and flowers, so I’m sorry if that’s not what you’re into. I’ll be in my room, so holler if you need anything, okay?”

Harry grabs his wrist to stop him from leaving, pulling him back until Zayn is standing in front of him again, much closer than they were before, with their chests nearly pressed flush together. Harry bites down on his bottom lip, looking at Zayn. His fingers rest on the hem of Zayn’s shirt, the pads of his fingers just barely slipping under the material to touch his skin.

Zayn kisses him first, pulling Harry in by the back of his neck and holding him there. It’s soft and slow, just Zayn trying to get a feel of Harry before he steps away, tugging off his own shirt, then his pants and boxers, toeing off his socks and shaking his feet to get them off completely. It makes Harry laugh, falling in to kiss Zayn once more when both of them are naked.

The shower water is warm when they finally step into the shower, kissing under the spray of the water, allowing it to wash away their day while they’re occupied in other ways.

Zayn feels like he can’t get enough of Harry in this moment, pulling away to pour shampoo into his hands, rubbing his hands together before he reaches out and washes Harry’s hair. He scratches his scalp, massaging his fingers into the skin as he works the shampoo in the lather. Ignoring the wash cloth, Zayn uses his hands to soap Harry’s body, running his hands down Harry’s toned arms, washing soap between his fingers and then going back up again, dragging his palms down Harry’s chest and stomach, rubbing the soap in. He covers every inch of Harry’s skin that he can because Zayn wants to take whatever Harry is going to give him.

Harry cleans Zayn, nipping at Zayn’s chin before he rubs soap on his face, nails dragging through the stubble on Zayn’s cheeks.

“You were looking too serious, Malik,” Harry teases, soapy fingers still running along Zayn’s body. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“With your hand on my dick? We should think not,” he breathes.

Harry grins, shaking his head. The action isn’t meant to be dirty, Zayn knows, he’s rubbing soap on him, obviously Zayn knows that what Harry’s doing isn’t meant to be doing something to him other than cleaning him, but Zayn’s wanted Harry since the moment he’s met him and he’s only human, so he tugs Harry closer by the arm and kisses him, wet and dirty, tongue dragging against Harry’s.

Harry feels like he’s been waiting for it, backing Zayn up until he’s pressed against the cold tiles of the shower wall, most of the water falling down on Harry as Harry works his hands between them, getting both of their dicks in his hand.

It slow and feels almost torturous, the firm but steady grip that Harry has on them, but it’s perfect. It’s everything that it should be. Not them after they’ve just met, not Harry trying to call his dick dead leaders names, but it’s them. And it’s perfect in everyway that it should be, pressing his fingers into Harry’s shoulders, rocking his hips forward, and kissing Harry, open-mouthed and messily.

+

When they leave, Zayn’s mom makes them both promise that they’re going to come back soon. She holds both of their faces in her hands, tells them that she was happy to see him and, in Harry’s case, he’s welcome back any time. She gives them each containers of leftover food, some that she made just for them since they’re leaving. Zayn had laughed when she passed them over, making Harry promise to put them away and to call her when they get back, so she knows they made it there because she can’t trust Zayn not to fall asleep and answer her in the morning.

Zayn drives while Harry talks, flipping through the stations on the radio. He talks more about Zayn’s family, picking through the containers and eating what he can, holding his hand out to feed Zayn when Zayn opens his mouth and turns his face towards him, keeping his eyes on the road. But somewhere between Harry’s favorite and his school play as a mouse, Harry starts to get quiet.

It’s not uncommon for a drive, for people to let the sounds of the pavement under their tires fill up the silence of their car. But this doesn’t feel like the good kind of silence, it feels like the one they shared in the bathroom together, right before Harry cried into his neck. It feels like the silence is one before a storm, when you know something terrible is coming, right before the wind picks up and the trees start to sway, well before any rain even hits the ground. Zayn’s worried about the rain, about Harry rain, about what it might mean.

“Everything okay over there?” Zayn asks, glancing away from the road briefly to see Harry nod.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Zayn says. “If something were wrong, though, you could talk to me about it.”

“I know,” says Harry, lifting his head from the window to smile at Zayn, soft and not quite spreading out across his features like how it does when he actually smiles. “I’m just thinking about things.”

Zayn nods. “I know it’s annoying, having someone prod you, but if you really did want to talk about it, even if you feel like you can’t with me, I want you to know that you can. If you want to, and when you want to, especially if it’s because of my family.”

There’s traces of something that looks like sadness in Harry’s eyes when he nods, but it’s gone before Zayn can know for sure that he saw it there or not.

“I really am just thinking.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, still not convinced but he’s not going to push it. “While you’re thinking, I wanted to run something by you.”

“What is it?”

“My work is having a gala for the diamond account that I’ve been telling you about.”

“Sounds like it’ll be fun.”

“It will be,” Zayn agrees, looking at Harry quickly. “If you’ll come with me?”

Harry nods, thoughtful. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So, that’ll be our tenth day together,” Harry mumbles, eyes squinting as they go off somewhere, somewhere into his mind like they were before Zayn started prodding at him.

“I guess it is,” Zayn says, forgetting that their time together has been so short. “So, do you want go with me? As my boyfriend, maybe?”

Harry laughs but he’s smiling, it’s soft and there’s happiness there that makes Zayn feel like he’s fucking flying. It feels like something in his chest is going to soar out of him and explode into a thousand little heart shaped confetti that floats of the window and decorates the Earth with the feeling of Harry’s happiness.

“All right, I’ll go with you, boyfriend,” Harry teases, voice high as he blinks, fluttering his eyelashes at Zayn.

“Awesome,” Zayn mutters. “Also, while you were downstairs talking to my mom this morning and left me alone, I was online.”

“Oh, yeah? Doing anything exciting?”

“Yeah, I got us tickets to a private opening for a gallery on Canal. I’m not telling you who the artist is, but I think you’ll love it. It’s on Thursday, oddly enough, so don’t make plans for that day.”

Harry smiles but it’s sad, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do about that. “I can’t wait,” Harry says, before he turns to look back out through the window.

Zayn doesn’t know what to do, but he’s not going to push, because whatever it is, it seems like even Harry is trying to figure it out. So Zayn reaches his hand out, lacing his fingers with Harry and holds his hand, squeezing it lightly.

+++

Nick and Liam understand when Harry tells them. Liam says that he figured something like this would happen all along, which seems like a load of shit, but Liam’s sincere enough about it that Harry just smiles at him and accepts it. Nick says that he didn’t think it would happen until recently, until he saw it, and that Harry accepts without question.

Harry’s boss, he doesn’t seem to understand as much as they do.

“What do you mean?” Victor says, lacing his fingers together and resting his head in his hands, looking at Harry like he’s just popped off about an alien abduction.

“I mean I can’t do it anymore,” Harry repeats. “I can’t write this article. I’ll come up with something else. Something easy that can be written by the end of the day and handed in tomorrow, but I _can’t_ write this. I can’t _do_ this.”

“Why not?”

“I should have never done it in the first place. It was a dumb idea and I’ve—I’ve changed my mind about it, about him. I _can’t_ do this to him, not anymore.”

Victor nods, shuffling papers around on his desk. “Harry, I don’t really care how you feel about this guy. You’re going to do the article, because the cover has already been decided on, and I am not going to change it because you can’t do your job. Instead, you had to do the opposite of what you were supposed to do, but either way, this article will be written. Or, you can have the luxury of finding a new job,” Victor explains, gaze piercing into Harry. “Do you understand?”

Harry breathes out slowly, nodding. He knew that this was going to happen. He knew that his boss wasn’t going to cave and give him what he wanted. It’s karma, Harry knows. It’s what he deserves after everything he’s done.

Without another word, Harry leaves Victor’s office, wanting to flee for the day and go back to his apartment until he can figure out what he’s supposed to do. He can’t go back to his desk, not right now, not when he’s got the draft of this stupid fucking article open on his desk. He needs to think, he needs—

“Harry,” Liam says, cautiously placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t start,” Harry breathes, shrugging away from Liam. “Just…don’t. Please.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“No, I’m not,” laughs Harry, running his fingers through his hair. “Victor’s making me write the article.”

Liam nods and places his hand back on Harry, curling his fingers around Harry’s forearm. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

Harry lets Liam guide him through the office, into the elevator, and out onto the street. He keeps a grip on Harry, silently walking beside him as they move away from Pacific.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Liam. How do you—How do I,” Harry sighs, his shoulders dropping as he releases a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do. There’s so much—I fucked up, completely. Everything about this is awful, and the worst part is, I knew that. I could feel it as I did it.”

“Maybe you could talk to Zayn about it. Hey, no, I’m being serious. You’re going to have to talk to him anyway, before the article comes out, if you want any chance at him forgiving you, but maybe you could—I don’t know. Maybe if you spoke to him about it, he’ll understand.”

“Oh Liam, you’re so naïve,” Harry laughs, wrapping his arm around Liam’s shoulder. “He’s not going to understand that.”

Liam nods. “You could explain. Tell me how you never meant to ruin things the way you did, or you did at first, but eventually you couldn’t figure out how to make it go away and you couldn’t stop it.”

“I don’t—Even when I do explain, he’s not going to understand and he’s not going to forgive me, and that’s fine. It’s not, but it is. Fuck, everything I did, I don’t deserve something like that, you know, but. But I wish that I knew what to do.”

“You know, Nick says that you spent the weekend with his family.”

“Yeah, it was his idea.”

“Well, maybe if Zayn doesn’t want anything to do with you, his family can vouch for you. Maybe they saw something,” Liam says. “Maybe they could tell that what you were feeling was real, even with everything going on.”

Harry sighs, leaning into Liam’s grip. “Maybe,” he says. “Maybe.”

+

Harry waits in front of his building for Zayn to arrive, pacing and wearing down his new shoes to get a bit of grip on the bottom. There’s twisting knot in his stomach, one that gets worse with every minute that passes. It curls and it feels like he’s driving on those bumpy roads at night, when you’re going too fast, and your stomach drops when you hit the other side.

A cab rolls to a stop in front of his building and Harry breathes in, holding it there, feeling his chest expand as Zayn steps out. He looks wonderful, and even that word feels too weak to describe him this moment. His hair is slicked back, with a single strand dangling down, hanging in front of his eyes. And he’s got a black suit on, black button up under his open jacket, and the smile on his face radiates so much that Harry wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not a beacon in the sky guiding someone home.

“You sure know how to make a statement,” Zayn laughs, reaching his hand out for Harry to take.

Harry laughs, taking Zayn’s hand and letting himself be tugged forward, into Zayn’s arms. “Well, I didn’t want to match you entirely.”

“Red suit with giant flowers on it, I almost wore the same thing,” Zayn teases. “I had it stuffed in the back of my closet and I thought, should I try that on for tonight? But I had this feeling someone was going to try and copy me if I did.”

“Oh my, well aren’t you intuitive.”

Zayn smiles, kissing Harry and then moving to help to him into the cab so they can leave. “You look amazing, you know?”

“Stop trying to get lucky,” Harry teases, sliding into the cab and waiting for Zayn to join him.

Harry keeps to his side of the cab for the ride, but he holds onto Zayn’s hand firmly. He’s decided that he’s not going to say anything tonight, not just yet. He doesn’t want to ruin Zayn’s gala, because he knows how important getting this account is to him, and Harry’s not going to stomp on that. At least not while they’re there; maybe afterwards he’ll tell him, when Zayn drops him off or maybe the next day during lunch. God, Harry really doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The gala is held in some fancy building on the West Side, a space that’s rented for wedding receptions or parties. Harry’s not sure what’s there when it’s not booked, but right now it looks fucking incredible. There’s valet outside, and security in suits at the door. Through the windows, Harry can see crystal chandeliers and people in fancy suits and dresses. There’s a fountain in the center of the room, just in front of a diamond display that has Harry’s jaw on the floor.

It’s magnificent how everything sparkles, from the people to the decorations. There’s an open bar in the very back, just next to a set of doors that Harry can see tables and chairs set up at. There’s a piano somewhere, Harry can hear the soft sounds of it from the entrance.

“I’m going to go get us some drinks,” says, hand on his back and mouth pressed to his ear. “Why don’t you take a look around?”

“You don’t want me to go with you?”

“No, it’ll be okay. There’s not a line, so it won’t take me long.”

Harry nods, feeling Zayn’s hand slide off his back as he walks away. He watches him go, waits until he disappears behind the curve of the fountain before he begins to move around. There’s a ton to see but it almost feels like there’s nothing for him to look at besides the other people in the room. His boss is here, on the far side of the room talking to people.

Harry says a silent prayer that they don’t bump into each other. He’s still pissed about what happened earlier but he also has Zayn with him, and though his boss has been reading updates on everything, he doesn’t want to risk his boss mentioning the article in front of Zayn, even if he doesn't give away what it’s about.

Someone approaches him to see if he’d like something to drink, and just as he’s getting ready to decline, he sees Zayn leaning against the bar and talking to an older woman. He takes the drink and leans against the wall next to him, watching as the woman flirts with Zayn. She’s got her hand on his arm, chemically created strawberry blonde hair twirling in the other. She takes the second drink from Zayn, making Harry’s decision to get his own worthwhile.

Harry can’t help but laugh as he watches the exchange, because Zayn is going along with it. He can tell that Zayn’s slightly uncomfortable by his posture but it’s not enough to make Harry worry that maybe he should interrupt. He doesn’t have the look in his eyes like he did when Harry would do one of his grand schemes.

“Eliana Vanderbilt has always been a bit of a flirt,” someone says, startling Harry. The name sounds familiar but Harry doesn’t have time to think about it because the man is still talking to him. “I’m Richard Wellington.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , you’re Zayn’s boss,” Harry mutters, offering his hand. “I’m Harry.”

“I guessed as much.”

“Excuse me?”

“Zayn talks about you sometimes.”

Harry blinks because he doesn’t know what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t that. “I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not to say the same about you.”

Richard laughs, loud and booming. “I guess it would depend on what he says.”

“Well, I’ve never hard a bad thing, so I guess it’s pretty good.”

“It is good. You can never be too sure, as Zayn likes to spend his time with Louis. Have you met Louis?”

“Oh, yes. I wish I could say fortunately,” Harry says, making Richard laugh.

“I have to say Harry, I’m surprised at how much you’ve,” Richard clicks his tongue, thinking, “inspired Zayn. Though, I’d have to say, it doesn’t look like it’s just him.”

Harry frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“When we first heard that we could potentially land this account, one of my employees mentioned the connection between diamonds and love. She said that in order to know how to sell diamonds, you needed to know how to make someone fall in love with you,” Richard explains, pausing to take a sip of his champagne. “I can see now that Zayn will know what he’s doing with this account.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about you.”

Richard nods and smiles, taking another sip of his drink.

“No, I’m not. We’re—We’ve only known each other a week, not even two. Ten days. It’s not really long enough to love anyone.”

Richard nods and shrugs, and the longer that he stands there without saying anything, the more Harry feels like he has to explain.

“That’s totally not true. Ten days. I’ve got socks I’ve known longer than Zayn, and it’s just,” Harry laughs, almost hysterically. “That’s—“

“It was really nice to have met you,” Richard says, nodding his head before he drifts away, disappearing into the crowd.

“God, don’t say anything to him,” Harry calls after him, standing on his toes to see if Richard heard him.

There’s no way that anything that he said made any sense. He and Zayn have known each other for ten days and this guy is trying to imply that they’re something that they’re not. Sure Zayn asked him to be his boyfriend, and sure Harry has _feelings_ but Harry’s not—God, neither of them are feeling like _that_.

There are two girls in yellow dresses across the room looking at him and they seem angry or something, and he’s not entirely sure what’s going with them, so he tries to ignore them as he downs his champagne. Zayn’s boss has him all worked up, because what if he says something? What if he approaches Zayn and tells him what he thinks he knows?

+++

Someone slams into Zayn’s back when Mrs. Vanderbilt finally walks away from him. He turns to see Louis and Niall, both of them practically vibrating.

“What’s going on?” Niall asks.

“Have you heard anything?” Louis questions.

“No,” Zayn replies, shaking his head, already knowing what they want to know. “Nothing. We just got here. I’m supposed to be getting us drinks.”

Louis looks to Niall and Niall nods.

“We just saw Harry talking to Richard,” Niall explains.

“Oh,” Zayn mutters, feeling his stomach drop. “How did it look?”

“Like they were talking,” Niall says.

“No,” Zayn groans, shaking his head. “Did Richard look pleased? Could you tell what they were saying? You have to tell me something, seriously.”

“We don’t know,” Louis tells him, gripping his arm. “Honestly, we just saw them for a second before Richard walked off. Harry looked freaked, though.”

Zayn thinks he could throw up hearing that. There’s no way that can mean anything good, not for Zayn.

“Zayn,” a familiar voice calls and Zayn braces himself for the worst, taking a large gulp of his drink. “That’s an interesting boy that you found yourself.”

“Technically,” Louis says, gripping Zayn’s arm so tightly that it feels like it could split in two,” The Yell- Marigold and Saffron found him.”

Richard smiles. “Either way, you seem to have been able to live up to your word. He loves you. So, congratulations, the account is yours,” he says, and then he’s off, leaving Zayn standing there in a daze.

Harry is in love with him. Harry’s feelings are _so_ strong that his boss, a total stranger to him, was able to pick up on them. It’s the only thing that Zayn’s mind can zero in on completely. He’s vaguely away for Niall and Louis shaking him, jumping on him in excitement because the account being Zayn’s means that they get to work on it as well because they’re a team.

But Zayn can’t get his mind to do anything but repeat Richard’s words in his head, not the ones about the job but about Harry and how he feels, how he feels about _Zayn_.

“I gotta go,” Zayn mumbles, stepping out of his friend’s grip.

“Yeah gotta go brag to the Yellow’s,” Niall says, patting Zayn on the back before they rush off like the children that they are.

Zayn would join them, but he needs to find Harry and give him his drink and…whatever else he wants. Anything, Zayn thinks, easing his way through the growing crowd.

“Did I just hear that this account is yours?”

“It is,” Zayn says, stopping to look at the man.

“That’s amazing. How did you manage that?”

“Hard work,” Zayn answers.

It’s partially the truth. Zayn works hard at his job. He always has. And he’s always going to, that’s not going to change just because he got the account and by extension, the promotion that he’s been waiting for. And dating Harry hasn’t been exactly a piece of cake, but he’s not going to mention that. Even though he should, to someone, probably Harry.

“You are a very lucky man, then.”

“I am, actually,” Zayn says. “So lucky that, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go talk to that lovely man over there,” he says, tipping his glass in the direction that he’s just found Harry, standing at the table they’re to be seated at.

“Oh, Harry? That’s Harry Styles,” the man says, and before Zayn can say that he knows that, he continues on and says, “He works for me down at Pacific Magazine. He’s our how-to guy. Right now, he’s writing an article about how to lose a guy in ten days. He’s dating this guy and he’s doing everything that he can to push him away. The poor guy, he really has no idea.”

Zayn nods, numb, listening as Harry’s boss recounts the past ten days of Zayn’s life back to him, every little detail that Zayn had to endure this guy knows about. The feeling he had a moment ago is gone, the feeling like he could burst from being overwhelmed in a good way, in the best way, is gone.

Zayn doesn’t know what he feels right now. He’s a little angry and embarrassed, mostly embarrassed. He clenches his jaw to stop from saying anything, to stop from shouting out.

Harry’s boss must finally be able to connect to dots. “Oh, shit. I’m—I’m so sorry,” he stammers out before he flutters away, disappearing.

And Zayn stands there, staring across the way with two glasses of champagne and a crushed, sinking feeling in his chest, staring at the boy who he thought he knew.

+

Zayn doesn’t try to find Harry after that. Instead, he sticks close to the edges of the room, watching Harry sit at their table, drinking, looking angry and upset with Zayn for leaving him and not coming back for him. He doesn’t really care that he’s hurt Harry’s feelings. He really doesn’t give a shit that someone he thought he cared about is sitting alone and wondering what happened to him.

Zayn should care. If his mom were here, she would tell him that he should at least go over there and talk to him. But she’s not here, and Zayn’s not going to do it. There’s a heavy weight under his ribs that feels like a fresh bruise, like when he was younger and his sister used to dig her fingers in it just to see him squirm. It’s worse than that, though, deeper and bigger than any bruise that he’s ever had before. That feeling is what stops him because if he goes over there, it’s going to spread and it’s going to get worse, and Zayn doesn’t think he could handle it. Maybe that makes him a coward; he doesn’t really care either way.

“Everyone, can I please ask that you all take your seats? Now that you’ve all had the opportunity to get settled and to check out our frosting, please help me in welcoming our guests of honor this evening, Mr. and Mrs. Aston Vanderbilt,” Richard says into the microphone, clapping his hands as the audience claps with him.

Zayn claps his hands, moving to take an empty seat at his company’s table. He hides the nametag under a plate, figuring that whoever Matt is, he can find his own place to sit. Zayn hears there’s an empty place next to Harry.

Richard introduces the musical artist for the night, some old white guy that Zayn’s never heard of before but the crowd cheers for nonetheless, to be polite or because they actually know who he is, is anyone’s guess.

Zayn sits up when he sees Harry stumble across the stage, his red floral suit hard to miss in a crowd of all black. He can see Harry gesturing for the mic that the singer has in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it and tugging when the man won’t hand it over. Zayn glares, wondering if he should do something but just across the table are the Vanderbilt’s and he’s not going to make himself look badly by dragging his possibly fake drunk boyfriend off a stage that he doesn’t belong on.

“A large majority of you don’t know who Zayn Malik is, and that is just awful for you. Just awful,” Harry says, resting on hand on the mic stand. “Zayn is lucky enough to be running this account for Wellington Advertising. No, it’s okay to give him a couple claps for that.”

A few people clap, slow and unsure. Zayn stays where he is, glaring at Harry.

“Zayn is an excellent man, with a knack for cooking and loves attending gallery openings. He enjoys spending time with his family, and, from his friends tell me, he is also a wagering enthusiast.”

Zayn turns, staring at Niall and Louis on the other side of the room. They both look guilty and nervous, and Zayn knows that they’re the ones who told Harry about the bet. He doesn’t know why they would do something like that. He’s not even sure why he cares at this point, not when Harry was doing the same to him, maybe worse since he was actively trying to make Zayn’s life a living hell. But Zayn cares, he does.

“Everyone, please help me welcome Zayn up here on stage. Zayn, come on up,” Harry calls, finding Zayn in the crowd, his eyes narrowing.

This is the part where Zayn goes to get his probably fake drunk boyfriend off the stage in front of both of their bosses and complete strangers, hopefully without causing a scene.

The crowd claps as Zayn moves through the tables, probably unsure about what’s going on. He can hear Mrs. Vanderbilt cheering loudly, and she only gets louder as Zayn steps on stage, smiling as he takes the mic from Harry and passes it back to the singer, mumbling a quiet apology.

“Come on, let’s go sit down,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry’s wrist.

“No, don’t touch me,” Harry spits out, yanking his arm away from Zayn. “You don’t get to touch me.”

“Harry,” Zayn whispers, because they’re still up on stage and everyone is looking at them. Their voices are echoing slightly, and some people are picking up on what they’re saying and he’s absolutely not going to fucking do this in front of everyone here.

“No,” Harry says. “You used me. You used me to win a bet for your fucking job.”

“Harry.”

“No! You _used_ me.”

“And what exactly have you been doing then, Harry? Huh?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Harry tells him, the green of his eyes almost scary in his harsh stare.

“Harry, you completely redid my apartment, you got me a cat that wants to kill me, and I have 180 voicemails on my phone from you. What is it exactly that you think you’re free from?”

“You think everything you did is different because what? You tolerated me?”

“You’re as guilty as I am, and you’re fucked if you think otherwise.”

“Everything you’ve accomplished this evening is based on a lie. You haven’t earned shit,” Harry tells him, turning to stalk off stage.

Zayn takes a deep breath before he rushes after him, following him towards the exit. Harry stops to tell Louis and Niall thanks. The two of them stare at him, eyes wide as they flick from Harry to Zayn.

“Are you two fucking serious?” Zayn grits out, glaring at his friends. “Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?”

“You can’t blame us for this,” Louis says, firmly.

Zayn scoffs, shaking his head as he rushes after Harry again. Harry is stomping down the street when Zayn catches up with him, anger radiating off his being.

“You used me to get this big promotion that you haven’t earned,” Harry says, when he realizes that Zayn is there. “You work doesn’t mean shit. You’re there now because of me. Because you used me for something fucking bet so you could get what you couldn’t earn on your own.”

“Right, and you using me to write some article on how to break up with someone is any better? You put me through actual hell, all so you could get some validation from your boss and people who don’t even know you because you’re a vindictive fucking asshole.”

“Oh, you pick that one up out of a dictionary just like you picked me out of a fucking bar?”

“Big fucking deal. I made a bet that I could some stranger to fall in love with me. In love with me, not that I could make their life a living hell, so you wanna act like you haven’t done anything wrong, fine, but you can fuck yourself,” Zayn spits out, wishing that he could do something. “You know what, why don’t you just use this for your little story, huh? Use this as some twist, I’m sure they’ll love that.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Maybe we should make a bet on it.”

“Harry,” Zayn says, suddenly completely worn out and tired, “you wanted to lose a guy in ten days, and guess what? You just lost him. So, congrats.”

He doesn’t want to argue anymore. He still has a nice left of the gala and probably profuse apologizing to do to his boss, and he just, he just doesn't have the energy for this anymore.

“No, I didn’t Zayn,” Harry shouts after him. “Because I can’t lose something I never had.”

Zayn almost wants to turn around and scream about how wrong that statement actually is but instead, he heads back inside, embarrassed and angry, leaving Harry outside alone.

+++

Harry sighs and rests his head against the couch cushion, closing his eyes and letting Nick card his fingers through his hair.

Now that he’s finished telling them about what happened at Zayn’s gala, they’re quiet, unsure of what to say next. Harry doesn’t blame them. If he were in their shoes listening to a story like this, he wouldn’t know what to do about it either. And he doesn’t, even if he’s only had a short amount of time to think about it.

“I guess it makes sense why he didn’t leave sooner,” Harry says, because he has to talk about it, even if he’s the only one talking. “We kept wondering why he wouldn’t go, and now we know.”

“Yeah, but no one would have thought that was why,” Liam says.

“No one would have thought that was why I was being a total dick,” Harry says.

“I know, I’m just saying,” Liam says, “Maybe it was the bet, at first, but maybe it was something else in the end. You feel betrayed because you cared about him. Maybe that’s why he feels the same way; maybe he’s so upset with you because he came to care for you as well.”

Harry doesn’t want to go down that road, so he shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” he says, sitting up and grabbing Nick’s TV remote. “Let’s just watch something.”

“Anything you want,” Nick says.

“I have to go,” Liam says, looking apologetic. “I’ve got that date tonight. I sort of pushed it back a bit, but I really should head out. You can call me if you need me again; I won’t hesitate to come back for you.”

“Thanks, Li,” Harry says, looking away from the TV to smile at Liam. “Have fun,” he calls after him. “Don’t do anything I did.”

“I won’t.” Liam smiles at him, getting up and letting himself out.

Harry sighs when he’s gone, dropping the remote and leaning back against Nick’s couch. He hasn’t felt right since Louis and Niall approached him and asked him to not say anything to their boss about how he knew about the bet, because Zayn definitely shouldn’t have told him, but he could get in serious trouble if their boss found out. Harry didn't know what they were talking about until Niall’s mouth kept giving him more information and then it was like…

Harry doesn’t know how to describe the feeling. He could feel his chest start to shake when they told him, vibrating with something, and there was nothing he could do besides feel everything. And he didn’t want to feel, so he drank like a fucking idiot, and then embarrassed himself in front of everyone; in a grand finale to all the other shitty things he’s done these past few days.

“You know,” Harry says, “I probably deserved this part of it.”

“I won’t say whether you did or didn’t deserve this. But either way, it can still hurt,” he says, shrugging when Harry looks at him. “Zayn would have found out eventually. Maybe now it’ll be easier to get over. Or maybe it’ll be easier to apologize for.”

“I don’t think anyone will be apologizing for anything anytime soon.”

“Maybe,” Nick sighs. “You wanna get drunk again?”

Harry snorts. “Do you even have to ask?”

Nick laughs as he jumps up, rushing into the room and coming back with two bottles of wine. He hands one to Harry before snatching up the remote, flipping through the channels.

Harry sits there, surrounded by Nick and his dogs, as Nick tries to find something for them to watch. He’s trying his best not to think about Zayn and what happened, but it’s the only thing going on in his mind right now, like his brain has created a playlist of just that moment in his life and can’t seem to focus on anything else.

He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so badly about it, because he was doing the same thing to Zayn except only worse. He was the one trying to do everything wrong and making Zayn miserable while just wanted to what? Find someone to fall in love with him? And all Harry was, was the fool casted into that role.

Harry wishes that were some kind of handbook on this kind of thing, what to do when you fall for the person you’re not supposed to, or what to do when you were writing a shitty article on someone who has made a bet on you. Unfortunately though, this doesn’t exist, and Harry is on his own with this one, but maybe, maybe someone else doesn't have to be.

+

Harry waits anxiously as Victor reads his latest article. It’s been several minutes and Victor’s face hasn’t given much away, unless there’s some coded message in scratching your chin that Harry doesn’t know about.

It feels like the minutes tick by, like he can almost hear the second hand on the clock tick and tick and tick until it feels like Harry is going to crawl out of his skin. Until Victor finally looks up at him, silently studying Harry.

Harry doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but he’s ready for it, whatever it is. He’s been bracing himself all morning.

“Well,” Victor says, smoothing his hands on his desk. “When you first pitched the idea, I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. I kept picturing it, how you’d write the story, and I never imagined this.”

Harry feels himself deflate. “I—“

“No,” Victor says, holding up a hand to cut him off, “You did it better than I could have ever imagined it.” And he’s smiling, so Harry knows that he’s not working him up just to wear him down.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. You did more than anyone could have asked for with this, and I think, I think this is definitely when you’ll make your section a must read for our magazine.”

“Are you saying—“

“I’m saying that after this, you can write about anything that you want.”

Harry can’t help but laugh, rubbing the redness off his cheeks. He’s smiling, absolutely beaming because he’s happy, so happy that it feels like he can’t remember the last time he actually was happy, which is stupid because Harry knows that he does. But this is, this is what he was working for and what he’s wanted all along.

Wow. Anything he wants. Harry can actually write about anything that he wants. He can do music reviews and talking about artists that inspire him, both old and new, and get more people to hopefully feel the way that he does. It feels good, despite knowing he’s done so many embarrassing and awful things to get here. And it feels…not at all like he expected it would.

“Thank you,” Harry says. “Does this mean that next month we can run my review today’s revival of classic rock?”

Victor snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. I said that you write about anything. Music reviews do not belong at Pacific.”

“Okay, I understand,” Harry mutters, nodding.

“Finally,” Victor sighs. “Thank you.”

Harry thinks he could have let it go if not for his boss’s comment, but his boss is the reason that he took the article, because Harry thought it would be his shot to do what he really wanted. And now that his boss has shown he was never really going to let Harry write about anything that he actually wanted to, just the things that his boss deems worthy, Harry knows what he has to do.

“Unfortunately,” Harry says, breathing out harshly. “I’m going to have to turn down everything that you just said. Consider this my notice.”

With a smile, Harry leaves, feeling like this is a long time coming, even if his hands are shaking because he just quit his job.

+++

Zayn sits on his couch, not doing anything that he’s supposed to be doing. He should be doing work, it’s the only reason that he pulled his tablet out so he could get started on some ideas and get some rough sketches going to get his creativity flowing, but instead he’s watching Breaking Bad and feeling slightly better knowing that someone else has a shit show for a life at the moment.

King Henry is lying next to him, actually curled up next to him with his eyes closed because apparently he doesn’t want to kill Zayn anymore. He’s letting Zayn pet him, his hand gently stroking the cat’s soft fur. It’s nice, even if sometimes he still likes to sit on of the bookcase like he’s waiting for the right moment to attack. But he’s lying here now, being nice, and it’s an odd comfort with how heavy Zayn’s mind has been lately.

Zayn’s been throwing himself into his work, but nothing ever really takes his mind away from that, from that thing with Harry. It’s always there, sitting there, waiting for him to stop to take a breath so it can overwhelm him completely.

Niall and Louis explained everything to him, how the Yellow’s claimed Harry knew about the bet the entire time and agreed to play along so he could help Zayn out. Foolishly, they believed them and confronted Harry about it. Though, it was always going to get thrown back in their faces, Zayn knows that, so he couldn’t find it in himself to stay angry at them, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk to them about what happened and how he’s feeling. He knows that they’d listen, of course they would, but neither of them really liked Harry (with good reason) and Zayn doesn’t want to have to feel like he’s defending his feelings to anyone, not his best friends and not himself.

“Can I talk to you?” Zayn says, scratching under King Henry’s chin. “You’re the only one who truly knew us both, so it feels like you’re the only who is going to be subjective with me. Plus, you don’t have a favorite, though if you did, it should be me since I feed you and clean your litter box, but I won’t get into that.”

Zayn remembers confessing some of his secrets to his pet dog when he was younger, whispering in his ear some of the things he had done that could get him in trouble. It felt right then, so maybe it’ll feel the same now.

“I wish things were different,” he confesses, combing his fingers through the cat’s thick fur, working out some the knots that are starting to form and making a mental note to buy a brush. “Everything. I wish everything were different, about the whole thing.”

Zayn sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not proud of what I did. And we were both going to find out about the other, it was only a matter of time. Hell, his side was going to end up being published, but. It still sucks.”

King Henry shifts, rolling onto his stomach to allow Zayn access to that area and it feels a lot like playing god to put his hand’s on a cat’s stomach, but maybe it’s like a dog? Maybe this means it wants its stomach touched?

“I don’t even know what I would change. I would get rid of the bet, of course, but would I have ever met Harry? I’d like to think that maybe I would have, but you can never really know. And you definitely wouldn’t be here if things were different,” Zayn says, holding out his hand when Henry rolls over. “Okay, so I wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn't want you to be anywhere else.

“I still wish that I knew what was right. How I should feel, what I should do, if I should reach out to Harry and try to apologize or talk to him. I don’t know,” Zayn admits, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

Zayn breathes out, tossing his tablet to the side. Something is going to come to him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but he’ll figure it out.

“Thanks for listening,” Zayn says, leaning down and kissing King Henry. “I feel better.”

+

“Maggie, I’m going to bring you the physical copies of these ideas. I’ll email them off, but you know how Richard can be about tangible things. We also need to return Mr. Vanderbilt’s call. We’ve been playing phone tag and I will love for a lifetime if you can manage to get him on the phone while I’m here,” Zayn says.

Maggie laughs. “You’re going to love me anyway, even if it’s just because I bring you coffee in the mornings.”

“That is true,” Zayn agrees. “I know I’m forgetting something else that needs to get done today but my mind is in fifty million different places, so when I figure it out I’ll give you a ring. Or come out, if I start smelling coffee.”

“You’re always so subtle,” she sighs. “And you’ve got visitors.”

Zayn looks up, sighing when he sees Niall and Louis heading his way. “Thanks. Let me know when you get in contact with Mr. Vanderbilt.”

“Will do,” Maggie says, hanging up.

Zayn tries to look busy when Louis and Niall walk in. He skims through his inbox on his desktop and tries to find something urgent, or moderately urgent that could take up some of his time.

“You still pissed?” Niall asks, propping his feet on Zayn’s desk.

“No, busy,” Zayn answers, curtly.

“Huh,” Niall mutters but he doesn’t look convinced when Zayn turns to look at him.

“Your mom called me,” Louis says.

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters, rubbing his face. “I forgot to call her back.”

“Yeah, I told her you were busy with this new account,” Louis says and Zayn’s grateful. “She read Harry’s article. Or, Waliyha did and then read it to her.”

“Great,” Zayn mumbles, dropping his face in his hands because since when did Waliyha start reading Pacific? And why didn’t he think earlier to find ever copy of it in his hometown and burn them so no one could read it? It would have been the smart thing to do, but Zayn’s just full of smart decisions lately, isn’t he? “I can’t wait to explain that.”

“You could try reading it,” Niall suggests and Zayn laughs.

“No, I’m okay,” he says, looking up to see Louis holding up the magazine.

Zayn stares at it and feels his fingers clench into a fist. He takes a deep breath, his eyes scanning the cover and finding the title of Harry’s article on the front in neon green lettering, taunting him.

Niall sighs, snatching the magazine from Louis and flipping it open. “When I first started writing this month’s article, I wanted to explore those silly dating faux-pas that we’re all told not to do, but we all do anyway. What I didn’t realize, was that I was making the biggest mistake of all,” Niall reads, lifting his eyes up to meet Zayn’s.

“Trust us,” Louis says, taking the magazine from Niall. “You’re going to want to read this.”

Niall pats him on the back before they head out, leaving Zayn alone with the one thing he wanted to avoid more than Harry himself. But here it is, lying in front of him with bubble green letters spelling out ‘How To: Lose a Guy in Ten Days’ with ‘written by Harry Styles’ underneath it. Zayn’s eyes travel across the page, trying to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. In the middle of the page is an excerpt with a quote that says, ‘I’ve lost the only guy I’ve ever really fallen for.’ Another that says he lost the one that could have been the one and Zayn feels like he’s never going to be able to breathe again.

With some effort, he takes a deep breath and reads.

+

Zayn bursts out of the elevator, rushing through the area and ignoring everyone giving him curiously looks or tries to talk to him because he’s not going to be stopped, he can’t lose his nerve on this one, he’s not going to.

He peeks into every desk, every cubicle, looking for that one familiar face that he actually wants to see more than anyone.

“Shit,” Zayn groans, rubbing his chest as he stumbles back from colliding into someone.

The guy looks at him, thick eyebrows pulling together. “Uh, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Harry. Harry Styles, where is he?”

“Oh, he’s not here.”

“When will he back?”

“He won’t be,” someone says and Zayn turns his eyes narrowing when he sees his therapist.

“I _knew_ you were familiar.”

Nick smiles. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“So, where’s Harry at?” Zayn asks.

“Not here,” Nick says. “Probably at home getting ready for his interview.”

“Interview? Interview where?”

“Los Angeles,” the other guy says. “He quit here and is thinking about moving out there.”

Zayn takes a deep breath. “Where is right now?”

“Home? Airport? Somewhere, I don’t know. He’s not exactly returning anyone’s calls right now, not since your mom called him.”

“Fuck,” Zayn groans. “She’s calling everyone, sorry. I keep forgetting to call her back. I need to go back to my apartment, I have an idea, and then we all need to say a prayer that he’s at his place.”

Zayn breaks every traffic law in the country to get back to his apartment as quickly as possible, weaving between cars when he can’t get around one, and turning to avoid red lights and nearly running several red lights because he has to make to Harry before he leaves, and if he has any chance of making things right, then Zayn thinks he needs to stop at his apartment to grab something. A few things, if he could get away with getting King Henry on his bike. Maybe if he took a cab, but Zayn wants to get to wherever Harry is quickly and before he tries to leave. So because he can’t bring King Henry, Zayn grabs the love fern and rushes back out to his bike.

Zayn weaves through traffic once more, breaking traffic laws and praying that Harry is at his apartment and not in LA. Zayn doesn’t fancy getting on a plane and flying somewhere, trying to navigate that city, all in an effort to find Harry. Plus, it would definitely be inappropriate. And if they’re going to start over, Zayn doesn’t want to happen with another boundary violation.

When Zayn gets to Harry’s building, he realizes a fatal flaw in his plan because has no idea which apartment is Harry’s but Harry’s name is on a buzzer, so Zayn presses it repeatedly, hoping that if Harry is home he’ll get annoyed enough that he’ll at least press the intercom button to yell at Zayn.

There’s no answer and Zayn adjusts the fern in his hand, starting to feel frustrated with himself because he should have found Harry before he felt like he had to leave. Zayn pulls his keys out when he sees someone coming, glancing down and pretending to find his until they open the door for and he bursts inside, taking the stairs two at a time and knocks on the door that he assumes is Harry based on the position of the buzzer.

“Harry,” Zayn shouts, hoping that he can hear him. “Come on, open the door. Fine, you won’t open it; I’ll do it so all of your neighbors can hear. Though, I wish you would open it because I feel like we’ve both done enough to embarrass ourselves for this lifetime, so opening the door would be so great of you.”

Zayn puts the fern on the ground and rests his head against the door, waiting and hoping. He nearly falls into Harry’s apartment when the door is yanked open a few minutes later, and Harry’s there, jumping and yanking his earphones out.

“Oh my god,” Harry breathes out. “What are you doing?”

“Did you mean it?” Zayn asks.

“Mean what? Because yeah, I wanna know what you’re doing.”

“No, did you mean this?” Zayn asks, pulling the magazine out of his pocket and unrolling it. Harry’s face goes blank for a moment, shutting down completely before it comes back, pinched.

“Oh, Zayn. Please, not now,” Harry begs.

“No, did you mean this?”

Harry stares at him, his eyes shifting from the magazine and to Zayn. A series of emotions flicker across his face, so many so quickly that Zayn starts to wonder if he made a mistake.

“Yeah,” Harry says softly, nodding. “Yeah, I meant it.”

Zayn breathes out, feeling a weight lift off his entire being. “You know, when I first found out about what had done, I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel, because my boss had just gotten done telling me that you had real feelings for me, but then your boss, he told me everything that was going on.”

“Oh,” Harry mutters. “I didn’t realize he—“

“Yeah, and it’s fine. I would have liked to have heard it from you, but what’s done is done, and it’s fine, really it is,” Zayn says, when Harry makes a face. “I should feel worse, you know, that you did all of that to me. And it makes sense for us both to feel anger and whatever else we’re feeling, but at the same time, we’re feeling shame because what the fuck are we angry about? You screwed me over just as much as I screwed you over.”

“I think that’s reason enough to be angry.”

“Yeah, maybe. And it’s justified, our feelings. And I should want to absolutely throttle you, I mostly feel confused, because I still kind of care about you,” Zayn says. “And you meant what you said in this.”

“Yeah, I meant it.”

“Good. So, where are you going?”

“LA. I’ve got a job interview and I don’t know, didn’t really feel like doing the skype interview.”

“Yeah, our therapist Nick told me that,” Zayn teases. “But why LA?”

Harry shrugs. “Change of scenery. I don’t know. I just want to work in a place that lets me write what I actually want to write about.”

Zayn snorts. “That’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me? You don’t anything.”

“I know that you’re scared, you’re hurt, and you’re upset, because that’s how I feel.”

“Zayn, you can’t—“

“If you want me to leave, I’ll go. You can fly to LA and have your interview and you can do anything you want there,” Zayn says. “Or, you can stay and we can try, because I really want to. I saw you during those ten days, Harry. Not the you trying to write an article, but the actual you. I saw it when you were with my family, and I really fucking like that guy. And I think we can make it work without a bet. Or maybe we can make a bet that it will work out, since we’re both pretty good at those because Harry, this is—“

Harry leans forward and kisses him, softly and slowly. Zayn almost feels them both relax into it.

Harry pulls away and takes a step back, breathing out. “What are the conditions?”

“What conditions?”

“The conditions on the bet.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, smiling. “We’ll have time to figure that out.”

“Well, you better come in so we can get started.”

Zayn smiles and goes to step into the apartment. “Wait,” he says, bending and picking the love fern up.

Harry’s laugh is startlingly loud, vibrant, and happy; it’s nice. “Oh, our love fern,” Harry sings, “you kept it alive.” And with one swift motion, Harry tugs Zayn into his apartment.

And it’s just like what they say in _Love_ _Actually_ , because, the thing about romance is, people really only get together right at the very end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're interested in what King Henry the cat looks like, I based him off [this cutie](http://zarryzouis.tumblr.com/post/156600824918).
> 
> Warning information and details below. If you need clarification on any of these, I'd be happy to explain further in the comments! 
> 
> Consent issues: Zayn and Harry create a relationship on a bet. Like the description says, Zayn bets he can make Harry fall in love with him, while Harry bets that he can get Zayn to break up with him while doing outrageous things. Neither of them are in the 'relationship' with true intentions, and neither of them knows about the others bet, and there is some sexual content in this story. 
> 
> Inappropriate Behavior/ Stalking: This relates to Harry's behavior. He calls Zayn a lot, shows up at his work, and talks to his mom without Zayn's permission. It's not intended as stalking, but it is definitely inappropriate and invasive behavior that probably straddles the line of stalking. 
> 
> Emotional manipulation: I believe because of the nature of the bets that this tag is appropriate as sort of a blanket warning. 
> 
> I love the movie and thought a fic version would be nice. However, if any of these warnings or behaviors might upset you in any way, I highly advise you to not read it.


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